


The Fugitives

by Dazzlious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9320675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazzlious/pseuds/Dazzlious
Summary: Snape is a fugitive, on the run for the murder of Dumbledore. Hermione and her friends are fugitives, on the run from everyone . . . .





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from JK Rowling’s fantastic books or films, I’m just borrowing and playing with them for a little while and get no monetary reward for doing so
> 
> A/N: The first Harry Potter story I ever wrote was called ‘Grief’. It was written in response to my feelings about Snape’s death (and my anger that he was so badly served in Jo’s story). It was a very well received story and I had many lovely reviews about it, but one reviewer questioned the timeline as I had tried to keep it canon and as she pointed out there wasn’t much chance for things to play out as they did in my story if you go by the events in Deathly Hallows (mainly because of all that camping). To be honest, I didn’t dwell on it too much at the time as by then I was well into writing other stories and really it had just been a release mechanism for my own grief at the Potion Master’s untimely and unfair death (hmmm, guess I didn’t really get over that). However, four years later I suddenly realised that actually, what I had written was entirely plausible, if a little unlikely (but hey, it’s fanfic, right?) and the complete story of Hermione and Snape’s relationship is what follows with 'Grief' as the final chapter. Thank you as always to Mamacita for being my beta. I hope you enjoy. Dx

 

‘Professor Snape, what’s happening?’ Hermione called through the door.

She looked around her worriedly, spotting Luna further down the corridor. She longed to run, to join Ron, Ginny and Neville, but she couldn’t leave until she knew what Snape was doing. She had promised Harry she would stay outside Snape’s office and keep watch on the teacher regardless of whatever else was happening in the school and she couldn’t break her promise, not even with the sounds of fighting she could hear coming from upstairs. She could hear Professor Flitwick talking urgently to Snape; the minuscule teacher having arrived just moments earlier. He was telling the taciturn man that he had to help, then there was a loud thud. The door opened and Snape emerged, looking even more stressed than usual. Hermione rushed towards him.

‘Sir, what’s happening?’ she asked. ‘What should we do?’

Snape looked at Hermione in confusion for a moment as if wondering why the hell she was there, but then, recovering, he said, ‘Professor Flitwick has collapsed, Miss Granger, and I need you to look after him. I have to go and fight. Before he collapsed he told me Death Eaters are in the school.’

‘Death Eaters? But we should come with you,’ Hermione told him worriedly. ‘We can help.’

Snape grabbed Hermione’s arm tightly and pulled her into his office.

‘You need to stay down here,’ he said quickly, his voice commanding. His dark eyes were blazing and his scowl was more ferocious than usual. ‘Look after Professor Flitwick . . . and make sure you stay here.’

In one swift movement, he pulled Hermione to him and gave her a fierce but brief kiss on the lips before releasing the surprised girl.

‘You need to stay safe, Hermione,’ he added gruffly before heading back out the door.

Hermione looked after him in complete shock. Professor Snape had just kissed her.

A few seconds later Luna’s head appeared in the doorway. ‘Professor Snape told me to come and help you with Professor Flitwick,’ she said, not at all in her usual dreamy manner. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘What?’ Hermione asked, sounding confused. She was still replaying the kiss and hadn’t yet got over the shock. She shook her head to clear the thought, then looked over to where the tiny teacher was laying on the floor.

‘Oh, poor Flitwick,’ she said unhappily. ‘I wonder what happened to him? Professor Snape said he collapsed.’ She joined Luna, who had already reached her Head of House and was bending down to check on him.

‘He’s unconscious,’ Luna said. ‘Perhaps he was hit by a spell or something?’ She looked at Hermione worriedly. ‘What should we do, Hermione?’

Hermione sighed her mind in turmoil. ‘I don’t know, Luna. Snape told me we should stay here with Flitwick, but I can’t help thinking we should go and help the others. Somehow the Death Eaters have got into the castle. But we need to tell Madam Pomfrey that Flitwick’s been injured, too.’

‘I’ll go and tell Madam Pomfrey about Professor Flitwick,’ Luna offered. ‘You should go and join the others and I’ll catch you up.’

‘Good plan. I’ll see you shortly,’ Hermione agreed. It was exactly what she had been thinking but hadn’t wanted to offend her friend by suggesting it.

She hugged Luna and ran out of the door, heading for the stairs, hoping she wasn’t too late and hoping, too, that no one else she knew had been injured or worse still killed by the Death Eaters. When she reached the Entrance Hall a large number of people were milling around and confusion seemed to be the main order of the day. The door to the Great Hall had been opened and everything was in chaos. It appeared that the Death Eaters had attempted to destroy the place. Hermione looked worriedly around the Entrance Hall trying to see if she could spot any of her friends.

The door to the castle was open and people were running down the hill, heading towards the gates – people in dark robes and masks. Panic rising in her now at the thought of what might have happened to her friends, Hermione turned to see Ginny and Neville. Neville appeared to be injured and Ginny was helping him walk. Hermione was just about to go over to see if he was all right when she heard more shouting.

Snape and Draco Malfoy were running through the Entrance Hall now, as fast as their legs could carry them. Malfoy looked terrified and Snape’s face wore the deepest scowl Hermione had ever seen. Without stopping they headed for the door, apparently intent on following the others out of the school. As he passed her, Snape turned and looked directly at Hermione for a moment, his dark eyes glaring at her, she supposed because she had ignored his order to stay in his office and keep safe although she still didn’t understand why he had wanted her to do that. But he didn’t stop or say anything to her, and a moment later he and Malfoy were gone.

Hermione heard another shout and watched in surprise as Harry came running through the Entrance Hall chasing after Snape and Malfoy. The pure hatred and anger that was etched on his face scared her. He, too, didn’t stop nor did he seem to notice his friends, intent as he was on chasing down his quarry. Hermione looked round and saw Ron coming towards her. She rushed over to him and gave him a huge hug, which seemed to embarrass him somewhat. For a moment Snape and the kiss slipped back into her mind, along with the thought that he wouldn’t have been embarrassed if she had hugged him. She dropped the thought immediately just as she dropped her arms, leaving Ron free.

‘What happened?’ she asked quietly.

‘We were attacked by Death Eaters,’ he said, looking grave. ‘Bill got hurt . . . badly. We’ve got to go to the hospital wing, Hermione. McGonagall said.’

Hermione nodded. ‘Of course, but Neville’s hurt, too, so we’ll need to help him.’ She walked towards Neville and Ginny, Ron following close behind.

‘We’ll take him,’ she told the red-haired girl. Neville was clutching his stomach and wincing in pain. ‘You go and wait for Harry,’ she added softly, and she patted Ginny’s shoulder soothingly, knowing that her friend was scared for her boyfriend. Ginny looked as worried as Hermione felt.

‘Come on, Neville, let’s get you to the Hospital Wing,’ she heard Ron say, and he wrapped his arm around Neville to help him walk. Hermione let go of Ginny and joined the two boys, going the other side of Neville so she could help support him, and they made their way slowly towards the infirmary. 


	2. The Fugitive

Hermione kissed her parents goodnight and headed upstairs. Her heart was heavy. She knew she didn’t have much time left to spend with them. Before she went to the Burrow she was going to have to Obliviate them and send them off to a new life — her attempt to keep them safe from the war that was coming. But every moment she spent with them upset her and thinking about what she had to do, even knowing it was the right thing, depressed her.

She pulled open the door of her bedroom and looked around at the piles of stuff all over the floor. Normally she was almost obsessively neat, but now she was going through every item she had acquired during her six years at Hogwarts, debating what she would need for the journey ahead. This was difficult because she didn’t actually have a clue what was likely to happen nor did she know what she would need but at least it stopped her from going mad while she waited for something to happen.

After Dumbledore’s funeral, Harry had told her and Ron that he wasn’t returning to Hogwarts the following year, something she had already guessed at, and she and Ron had pledged to help him. She knew it wouldn’t be that easy. With Harry it never was. But as long as she was as well prepared as she could be, she could at least be confident of helping her friend to the best of her abilities.

But if she was honest, Hermione was feeling anything but confident. Ever since Dumbledore had been killed — actually, back further to Voldemort’s return at the Ministry — her world had been shaken and she was having trouble getting a handle on what was happening. Losing Sirius, the first person in her life to have died and who she had actually seen killed, was a massive blow, not only to her but to the entire Order of the Phoenix.

To then discover that Professor Snape — another Order member and a teacher whom she had always respected even though Harry and Ron hated him — was a murderer had scared and confused her, leaving her unsure who she could trust. But the one thing she was always sure of was that she had to help Harry. Whoever came or went in her life, she was sure no one was more important to the wizarding world than him, and she would do anything in her power to protect him. And for that reason, she had to be ready at a moment’s notice.    

Choosing a random spot on the floor she sat down, picked up the top book in one of several large stacks and looked at it. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. It was a Potions book, which reminded her instantly of Severus Snape, her ex-Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; the man who had killed Dumbledore and shown himself to be a traitorous Death Eater. Hermione was still having trouble coming to terms with his treachery, and although she had tried hard to forget it she couldn’t help remembering the kiss he had given her only minutes before he had killed the Headmaster. Time and again in the month since it had happened she had wondered whether he had known what he was about to do when he kissed her. Had it been some sort of Judas kiss or had it been a last-gasp chance at redemption? Hermione didn’t know, but whatever it had been she still couldn’t get that kiss out of her mind.

She had felt horribly guilty when Harry had told her what Snape had done and she realised that it must have been he who had attacked Professor Flitwick — and she had let him go, even though realistically she knew she couldn’t possibly have been aware of what he was about to do. She had replayed the scene over and over, looking for any sign that Snape had indicated what was going to happen, but there was nothing. There was only the kiss and his admonishment that she should stay in his office and keep safe.

And this confused her.

Until that moment she had never had the impression that Snape liked her in any way, especially a way for which a kiss would be given. He had always been mean and vindictive, traits she had chosen to ignore because she knew underneath it all he was an excellent teacher and she was sure, somewhere very deep down, a good person. But the kiss and its aftermath had called into question his feelings for her and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from thinking what might have happened if the events of that night hadn’t played out as they had.

Would something have developed between them, she wondered. Although he was her teacher, she was an adult and it might have been possible — except in all fairness she had never considered the dark and brooding man as a possible romantic prospect before and of course, if the night had never happened, then neither would the kiss. But hard as it was to come to terms with, the kiss had awakened within Hermione something she feared would never be quelled. Brooding, snarky, and ugly he may be, but a little piece of Hermione, one that whispered in her heart and her head during the cold hours of the early morning when she could no longer sleep, was attracted to Snape and wished things could have been different.     

This, of course, served to make her feel even guiltier. She knew she shouldn’t be having romantic thoughts about a murderer, and a Death Eater at that. She could imagine what Ron and Harry would say if they knew. But the thoughts didn’t stop, so she’d had to try to learn to block them out instead. Which worked fine until she thought of Snape, which only happened about twenty or thirty times a day. Tearing her mind from the teacher once more, she looked again at the Potions book. It was interesting but she wasn’t sure it would be all that useful. If she was in a situation where potion-brewing was likely to be required, she would probably have access to a book on the subject. She placed it in a new pile then picked up the second book to look at the title of that.

An hour later Hermione had three new piles: the books she was going to take, the ones she was leaving, and a pile of undecideds — those books that may or may not make the cut depending on what else she ended up taking. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and looked at the clock on her wall. It was almost midnight, time for her give up for the evening and try to get some sleep, although she knew the chance of that was fairly slim. Sleep had not been her friend for some time now. Standing up, she straightened out a kink in her back then bent down to pick up the pile of books she had rejected. She placed these in her school trunk, which stood open on the floor. The ‘keep’ pile was then combined with another pile that was already in evidence elsewhere in the room. The third pile she left.

Yawning, Hermione pulled her pyjama top from under her pillow and laid it on the bed before leaving the room to head for the bathroom. She could hear laughter coming from the television downstairs; her parents were obviously watching a comedy show. She turned on the bathroom light and looked at herself critically in the mirror.

Her hair was still bloody awful but there was nothing she could do about that. She was destined to forever be having a bad hair day, especially with the weather as humid as it was at the moment. She had hoped that the rain that had fallen earlier that evening would help to make the mid-summer heat more bearable, but it hadn’t done anything. With no breeze and the soaring temperatures, everything was just sticky and uncomfortable. What was needed was a nice large thunderstorm to clear the air, but that didn’t seem likely or her hair would have indicated it. It would pick up the static and go even wilder, corkscrew curls sticking out all over the place at odd angles. It really was a complete nightmare.

But at least since her teeth had been fixed her face looked a little more normal. In fact, sometimes she thought she actually looked quite pretty. She grabbed her headband and pulled back her hair, then set about carefully washing, toning, and moisturising her face before thoroughly brushing and flossing her teeth. Looking in the mirror one last time, she pulled off the headband and dropped it onto the shelf, then, after running her hands through her hair, she turned out the light and went back to her room. The television downstairs was still emitting sounds of laughter.

Hermione turned off the main light and picked her way across the room to turn on the bedside lamp. She moved her feet, working off her trainer socks, too lazy with the stifling heat to actually bend down and remove them. A moment later she unzipped her jeans and twisted out of them, leaving those, too, on the floor and enjoying the feeling of freedom from the restrictive clothing. Her t-shirt followed, as did her bra, and she picked up the pyjama top, looking at it critically before she put it on. It was quite old, this particular top and had several buttons missing. She made a mental note to buy some new pyjamas before she went to the Burrow; she couldn’t possibly wear this old thing when she was in company. She bent down and picked up her clothes and moved to the corner of the room, which contained a half-full laundry basket. She dumped the clothes inside.

Hermione stopped, suddenly alert. She was sure she had heard a noise. She turned slowly, half expecting to see someone, but of course, there was no one in the room but her. This was crazy. She was jumping at shadows now. She needed to calm down or she would do something stupid that would put her family at risk. She went to the bed and pulled back the sheet.

There it was again: the noise. It was coming from her window. Someone or something was trying to get her attention. Hermione dropped the sheet and opened the drawer in her bedside cabinet, removing her wand. She moved to the window, clicking off the lamp as she went, and looked out of the glass, half expecting Hedwig to appear. There was nothing there. She looked down into the garden, wondering if Crookshanks was the culprit — nothing. She scanned the street, but there was still nothing. She was about to give up and go back to bed when something hit the glass with a thud, making it shake.

Hermione screamed and closed her eyes but managed to stifle the sound with her hand not wanting her parents to hear and come to investigate. Breathing heavily, her heart thudding, she opened her eyes and looked through the window again. Standing on her window ledge, looking as if he had been dragged through hell, was Severus Snape. Without even thinking, Hermione opened the window and pulled the bedraggled, lunatic-looking man inside. For a second her brain screamed at her that she was being stupid, that Snape was a Death Eater and a murderer and that he would kill her too, but she ignored it, switching the lamp on again so she could see him better.    

‘Thank you for allowing me in,’ Snape said. His voice sounded rough and scratchy as if he hadn’t spoken for a long time.

Hermione stared at him appraisingly for a moment, her wand trained on him. ‘I probably shouldn’t have done, but then I could hardly leave you outside. What are you doing here, anyway?’ She was pleased to hear she didn’t sound scared but neither did she sound friendly.

‘I needed to talk to you,’ he said, sounding sincere although still rough. ‘But first, could I possibly have a drink of water?’

‘All right, I’ll get you a drink. But don’t move. And I want you to give me your wand. I don’t want you hexing me and my family while our backs are turned.’

Snape gave Hermione a look that started with disgust and indignation and ended with amusement but without saying anything further he pulled his wand from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

‘Wait here,’ Hermione said, ‘and don’t make a noise. I don’t want my parents coming to see what I’m doing.’

Again Snape looked at her in amusement. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he nodded. He watched as Hermione left, closing the door behind her as she went. After a few seconds, he began to turn on the spot, looking around her room with interest. Obviously, she was in the middle of some great clear-out — or she was packing to go somewhere. His thoughts turned for a moment to her best friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Surely if she was going she wasn’t going alone. But was she merely going to the Burrow, where Bill’s wedding to that French girl who had been in the Tri-wizard Tournament was due to take place, or were the three of them going to set off on the quest Dumbledore had given them?  

A few minutes later Hermione was back, her wand still held out in front of her as she entered the room, a pint glass of water in the other hand. She kicked the door closed with her foot. Once she was sure Snape wasn’t going to attack she held out the glass, which he took gratefully, downing the drink greedily as if dying of thirst, which in truth he was. She didn’t move but watched him as he drank.

‘So, you said you wanted to talk to me,’ she said after Snape emptied the glass. ‘What was so important that you had to come and see me?’

She stared at the filthy man, wrinkling her nose as she realised that he smelt pretty ripe, too. She had no idea where he had been living for the past month but it obviously didn’t have a bath. She really needed to get rid of him as soon as possible. For a moment she considered attempting to alert the authorities. But Snape had been clever. He had come to her Muggle home where she had no Floo connection, nor any way of contacting the Ministry — or anyone else for that matter — so she would have no choice but to release him once he had said his piece.

Snape gestured to the piles of magical equipment around the room. ‘Are you going somewhere, Miss Granger?’ His voice was less rough after the water but still sounded under-used.

Hermione hesitated for a moment. Snape was a Death Eater and she definitely shouldn’t be telling him her plans, but at the same time, she knew the man was a Leglimens and would know if she lied to him.

Before she had a chance to speak, Snape added, ‘I know this is a little presumptuous of me, but I wonder if I might use your bathroom. I’m afraid I’ve been living rough for the last few weeks and am sorely in need of a little freshening up.’

Hermione had a hard time biting back the response that he needed a damn good scrub in the bath, so she pursed her lips in order to keep quiet. She realised the television was no longer making a noise. Her parents had to be on their way to bed. She put her finger to her lips to keep Snape silent, then she opened her bedroom door a little and slid out just in time to see her parents coming up the stairs.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ her mother asked, looking anxiously at Hermione, who had put her hand behind her back to hide the wands she was carrying.

She had been worried about her daughter ever since she had returned from school. Although Hermione had insisted there was nothing wrong, her mother knew things had become unstable in the world her daughter inhabited. In fact, she and her husband had debated several times over the previous few weeks whether to remove Hermione from Hogwarts altogether. But she was about to start her final year at the school and it was a little late to start thinking about enrolling her in a normal school now when her entire education had been based on witchcraft.

Hermione gave a small, taut smile. ‘I’m fine, Mum but although I’m knackered I think I’m over-tired and just can’t get to sleep, so I’m going to have a bath before I go to bed. Hopefully, it will help me to drift off. I just thought I’d warn you in case you wondered what I was up to in there.’

Her mother smiled. ‘You could definitely do with relaxing, Hermione. You seem so stressed since you came home from school. A nice warm bath might do the trick. Use some of the bath salts in the cupboard. They’re rosemary and juniper, good for relaxation. Just make sure you don’t fall asleep, though. We don’t want you catching a chill, do we?’

Hermione gave a small roll of her eyes, mainly because she knew it was expected, then hugged her mother. ‘I won’t fall asleep, at least not until I get into bed,’ she promised with a smile. ‘Sleep well, Mum. I’ll see you in the morning.’

She let go of her mother and gave her father, who was now also on the landing, a hug. ‘Night, Dad.’

He kissed the top of her head fondly and gave her a squeeze. ‘Sleep well, Minny.’

Released now, Hermione went back to her bedroom and waited until her parents had entered their room before opening the door again, in case Snape could be seen. She definitely didn’t need them finding him in her bedroom. Even in the state he was in she would have a hard time explaining who he was and what he was doing there, and she had a feeling that any explanation wouldn’t be well received, even though they had no idea he was a murderer.

_And he kissed you,_ the little voice in Hermione’s brain reminded her although it wasn’t really necessary. _They definitely wouldn’t be pleased if they knew that._   

Hermione thought about the kiss once again, the way she had so many times since it had happened. She wondered whether she should ask Snape about it, whether she should force him to explain why he had done it, especially considering what he had gone on to do afterwards but she wasn’t sure she was ready for the response.

Snape was standing in the same position she had left him, his face watchful as she entered the room. He relaxed a little when he realised it was just Hermione. She hadn’t told her parents about him, which was a hopeful sign. That meant she trusted him enough not to give him away or at the very least she was willing to hear him out before she made a judgement on him, which was what he had been hoping for.

‘You’ll have to wait for a few minutes as my parents are just getting ready for bed,’ Hermione told him. ‘Then you can have a bath. They’ll think it’s me as I told them I was having one.’ She looked appraisingly at her ex-teacher for a few seconds then added, ‘You may as well start getting undressed. I’ll clean your clothes while you’re in the bath.’

Snape looked a little surprised, but after a moment he began to unbutton his frock coat.  Hermione opened the cupboard and bent forward to rummage around inside it for a few moments, then turned towards Snape with her arms full of towels.

‘Towels and a bathrobe,’ Hermione said matter-of-factly as she handed them to Snape. She turned away to give him a little privacy as he continued to undress, although a little part of her that she was having trouble quelling really wanted to watch him. She knew he wouldn’t attack as she still had his wand. ‘Probably not quite what you’re used to, but they’ll have to do. The bathroom is across the hall — _not_ at the end of the corridor, that’s my parents’ bedroom. Feel free to spend as long as you want in there, but please don’t make a noise.’ She turned back to look at the teacher who was now naked apart from his underpants and quickly averted her eyes from the sight. ‘You can use the red toothbrush. That’s mine.’ She stopped and cutting off Snape as he went to say something, added, ‘I’ve only used it a couple of times so it won’t have that many germs. Anyway, it’s better than nothing at all. Now, off you go.’

Snape didn’t say anything but left the room and headed across the hall to the bathroom, desperate now to have a bath. Hermione looked at the door as Snape closed it, then, whilst she waited for him to come back, she began sorting through another pile of stuff, knowing there was little else she could do. She still didn’t understand why Snape wanted to talk to her and she had no questions to ask him in return except for the two big ones, one of which she was sure he wouldn’t answer and the other to which she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

The one thing seeing Snape again, especially in his semi-naked state, had done was to make her realise that her desire for the taciturn teacher wasn’t just something her mind had conjured to deal with the kiss. As shocking as it seemed, it was a real, tangible thing; somehow she was going to have to deal with that, and with the guilt that accompanied it. She picked up another pile of books and stacked them carefully in her trunk and then looked at her ‘keep’ pile. It was massive — too big, especially as she was going to have to carry it all around with her all the time. She sighed then dropped another couple of books onto the huge pile.

Turning to Snape’s clothes, Hermione used a cleaning spell on each of the garments he had given her. The shirt and socks were easy enough to clean, but his trousers and frock coat were filthy and so ingrained with dirt that no spell she knew was tough enough to do the job. For a moment she thought of Mrs Weasley, sure she would have a book that contained a decent charm, but that made her think of Harry and Ron and what they would say to her if they knew what she was doing, and another acute stab of guilt went through her. She looked at the dirty garments again. There was nothing for it; she was going to have to put them through the washing machine and hope that did the job. Drying the clothes was going to be much easier than cleaning them.

Snape seemed to be taking an awfully long time although perhaps she was being unfair to him by imagining that he wouldn’t take long to clean himself. At school, he had always been immaculate except for his hair and that, she knew, was only lank and greasy because of working with potions all day. Knowing how her hair exploded after a Potions lesson had made her more sympathetic than most people to that plight.

Hearing a noise, Hermione grabbed her wand again, determined to make sure that Snape couldn’t take her by surprise. The door handle turned and a moment later the door opened and Snape, now wrapped in a white bathrobe and carrying the folded-up towels, entered the room. Hermione’s heart did a double flip at the sight of the lean and rangy man, his hair still damp, the bathrobe open just enough to reveal a smattering of dark hair on his chest. God, she really was very attracted to him, especially when he was looking vulnerable like this.

‘Better?’ she asked, trying to drive away the inappropriate thoughts she was having about Snape because they were on the verge of becoming very inappropriate.

‘Much. Thank you, Miss Granger,’ Snape said. His voice finally sounded as she remembered it from school, the scratchiness almost completely erased.

‘You may as well call me Hermione as we’re no longer teacher and pupil. It makes me feel uncomfortable when you call me Miss Granger as if you’re about to berate me for something,’ Hermione admitted.

Snape gave her the amused look again for a moment, then broke into a low chuckle. ‘I never thought you were ever worried about anything I might say to you,’ he said.

Hermione looked surprised. ‘You were my teacher, of course I was worried. No one likes to be criticised . . . especially when they’re working well.’

Snape gave a small shrug. ‘I may have been a little harsh on you at times, Hermione but you really were an insufferable know-it-all and needed to be reined in occasionally.’

Hermione glared at him as he chuckled louder. Then, realising that they were in danger of being heard, especially if it turned into an argument, she waved her wand and cast a silencing charm on the room. Once again Snape’s eyebrows raised and he gave her another appraising look, but she ignored it. If Snape’s presence in her bedroom would have given her parents cause for concern before, in his current state of undress it would make them apoplectic. Needing a break, both from Snape and her thoughts about him, she bundled up his clothes, taking his underpants and the wet towels as well.

‘I need to go and put these in the washing machine,’ she explained. ‘I can dry them easily enough once they’re washed, but I don’t know a strong enough cleaning charm. I tried using the one I know, but it hasn’t made much difference. They’re far too dirty.’ Snape made as if to stop her, but Hermione was adamant. ‘There was no point in you having a bath if you’re just going to put filthy clothes back on. It won’t take long. And you can’t go anywhere anyway – I’ve got your wand, remember.’

She headed towards the bedroom door once more and then turned to look back at Snape.

‘Do you want another drink? Are you hungry?’

‘Yes, please, I would be very grateful for both,’ Snape admitted, realising there was no point in arguing with her.

Snape sat down on Hermione’s bed while he waited for her to return. He was actually very impressed with the way Hermione was dealing with him. Although obviously scared, she’d had the sense to separate him from his wand and was not giving him any chance to recover it. Of course, he wouldn’t have done anything to hurt either her or her parents, that wasn’t the intention of his visit at all, but he was glad that fear didn’t stop her from thinking logically and cleverly. She really was every bit as brilliant a witch as he and Albus had always thought she was. But something other than fear was emanating from Hermione, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

For his part, he was having a slight problem with the way Hermione was dressed. Until this evening he had only ever seen her fully clothed, either in her school uniform and robe, or her more casual weekend attire which generally consisted of jeans and a jumper or t-shirt. But this evening she was wearing only the top half of her pyjamas, which showed off her long, shapely legs slightly more than was decent. This wasn’t helped by said pyjama top having several buttons missing, which, when she walked, gave alternate flashes of her flat stomach and her white cotton knickers stretched tightly over her mound, her pert bottom, or her full breasts. When she had leant over to retrieve the towels from the cupboard he had even seen one of her nipples which had, he was disconcerted to find, made his heart race and reminded him of the kiss he had given her.

Ah yes, the kiss. Snape wondered what Hermione had thought of what he had done to her. She had been surprised, that he knew from her reaction at the time. But had she been disgusted by it? He had been almost as surprised as Hermione when it had happened. It certainly wasn’t something he had planned or even something he had ever thought about doing. Until that moment Hermione had never been anything more than his student — admittedly brilliant, but certainly not someone who consumed his thoughts. She hadn’t mentioned the kiss so far and he wasn’t sure whether that was because she was trying to put it out of her mind or she just hadn’t got round to asking him about it. Hermione was always so unreadable, he had no idea what she was thinking. But how would he explain to her if she were to ask?

How could he tell her that in that moment, that fateful moment when she had appeared at his door, just when he knew the events he had been waiting for so tensely for so long had finally occurred and that this was probably the time when he would have to kill his best friend and mentor, she had been like a ray of sunshine cutting through the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. She was important, that he already knew, but suddenly she had become important to him as well as to the cause, and his desperation to claim just a few seconds of pleasure before his descent into darkness had driven him to give her that one all too brief but fiercely passionate kiss before leaving her behind and facing his destiny.

Would she want to know that he had considered that kiss many times during the dark days that followed his escape from the school, and that during the last month he had imagined many more — and not only kisses? Albus hadn’t made it easy for him. Although on the run, Snape was unable to merely sit back, hidden away in one of the Death Eaters’ homes waiting for Voldemort’s eventual rise to power and his re-emergence. In order to aid Potter with his defeat of the Dark Lord, Albus had given him many instructions for things he had to do, so he had become a fugitive, sleeping rough and risking capture every day in his quest to follow the Headmaster’s orders.  It had been difficult and he had come close to capture several times, but he was confident that everything he had set in motion with Albus’ death would further Potter’s cause, even though the boy would never know everything Snape had done to help him.

Potter had inherited his father’s stubbornness and tended towards rashness, especially when under pressure, and often felt the need to try and go it alone. This couldn’t be allowed to happen. They had to ensure that Potter included Weasley and Hermione in his plans, as Dumbledore had suggested to the boy on several occasions, something it seemed the bloody boy had chosen to ignore. And so it fell to Snape to talk to Hermione and convince her it was vital that she and Weasley stay with Potter, whatever happened, even if he tried to get rid of them.

Albus had given him permission to reveal certain facts to Hermione, knowing she was a sensible girl and would keep what she had learned a secret if knowledge of it was likely to cause a danger to her friend — although Snape’s agreement to end Dumbledore’s life and the reasons it had become necessary were not to be shared with anyone, not even her. This made his task more difficult as he was unable to allay the suspicion and hatred that was now his lot, but at least Hermione was willing to listen even if she didn’t trust him.

He heard a noise and wondered for a second whether he should attempt to hide. Hermione’s parents were probably fast asleep by now so it had to be Hermione and there was no point in moving. He saw her stare in his direction as she entered the room. An expression he couldn’t quite place crossed her face as she moved towards him carrying another full glass, this time of milk, and a plate of sandwiches.

‘I hope you like milk. I thought you might want something a little more substantial than water, especially if you haven’t eaten properly for a while.’

‘Milk’s fine. I’m very grateful for your hospitality,’ Snape said honestly, giving her a small smile as he said it.

Hermione moved away from the bed, and from Snape, and leant against the wall as she silently watched him eat.                

‘So are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?’ she asked eventually, as Snape put the now-empty plate and glass on her bedside cabinet.

Snape looked at her appraisingly for a moment then indicated the piles of books and equipment once more.

‘I assume you’re getting ready to join the others at the Burrow. It looks like you’re preparing for more than the wedding, though.’

Hermione looked at Snape in surprise. How did he know about the wedding?

Snape gave one of his deep chuckles. ‘Bill and his girlfriend were arranging it before I became a fugitive,’ he explained. ‘I don’t know when it is, but I assume it’s soon. Seriously, Hermione, tell me: are you doing this in readiness for helping Potter with his quest?’

Hermione considered the question for a moment. Obviously, Snape knew something of what Harry had been tasked to do by Dumbledore, but how much did he know? She didn’t want to give him any information that he could use against them in the future.

‘I don’t need to know what you’re doing,’ Snape added as he watched Hermione debating, ‘just that you _are_ doing something.’

Hermione nodded. ‘I’m getting ready,’ she admitted, ‘although I’m not sure what for. I just figured it was best to be prepared for whatever happens.’

‘Has Potter talked to you at all about his plans?’ Snape asked seriously.

Hermione shrugged. ‘Harry can be a little . . . .’ She broke off, trying to think of the word.

‘Difficult?’ Snape supplied, ‘Hard work?’

Hermione sighed. ‘He just always seems to think he needs to do everything on his own. It’s really frustrating, actually.’

Snape nodded understandingly. ‘Dumbledore told him he had to involve you and Weasley, that he should confide in you both. Has he done that?’

‘Sort of. I mean, he told us he wasn’t going back to Hogwarts, but he hasn’t been awfully communicative and I’m worried he’ll try to sneak away without us.’

‘It’s vital he doesn’t do that,’ Snape said sharply. When Hermione looked at him angrily he added more gently, ‘Potter can’t hope to accomplish his mission without you there to help him. You have to make sure he takes you both with him. And you have to stay together. Whatever happens.’

‘That’s what we intend,’ Hermione replied coldly. ‘But Harry makes it difficult sometimes.’ 

‘I know how difficult Potter can be, but you have to make sure the three of you stay together. I can’t stress this enough, Hermione.’ Snape’s famous scowl was back on his face now.

Hermione studied Snape for a moment as she thought about what he was saying. The way he was talking would suggest that he knew what Dumbledore expected them to do and that he was there to give a pep talk. But was that really the case? He had killed the Headmaster in cold blood, and whichever way she looked at it Hermione just couldn’t believe Dumbledore had arranged for that to happen. From what Harry had told her and Ron afterwards, there was no way that what Snape had done had been an accident. But then that meant Snape really was a Death Eater, and if that was the case, his reasons for wanting to keep her and Ron with Harry might be far more insidious. Together they would make an easier target, for capture . . . or worse.

The problem was that she really wanted him not to be the murdering Death Eater he had been painted as, and she knew that was purely because of her lust for him. In this uncertain world she longed for words of reassurance and to be set upon the right path, especially with Harry being so uncommunicative about what they were supposed to be doing but with Dumbledore gone they had no choice but to wing it. However much she might want to trust Snape, one brief kiss wasn’t enough. She had to put aside her desire for him and look at the situation logically. But how could she tell whether he was trying to help or hinder?

‘You don’t trust me.’ There was no accusation in the words. Instead, Snape’s voice sounded mournful as if he was upset that Hermione wasn’t willing to take him at his word.

‘Are you surprised?’ Hermione asked, ‘After what you did? Why did you kill Professor Dumbledore?’

Snape looked at Hermione for a long time without saying anything, then he sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes.

‘I can’t tell you. But it was necessary. Believe me, Hermione, if there had been any other way . . . .’

Hermione was sure she detected the sound of regret in Snape’s voice, and his eyes showed pain.

‘Was it because of the Unbreakable Vow?’ she asked, suddenly remembering what Harry had told her about the conversation he had overheard between Snape and Draco at Slughorn’s Christmas party.

Snape looked at her in surprise, his scowl growing. ‘What do you know about the Unbreakable Vow?’ he asked defensively.

Hermione shrugged and frowned. ‘Not much, to be honest. Harry followed you and Draco when you left Slughorn’s party. He overheard you talking about an Unbreakable Vow.’ She moved away from the wall and towards the bed. ‘I just suddenly thought of it and it made me wonder whether it had something to do with Dumbledore’s death. I mean, Draco was there, wasn’t he? And Harry said he was the one who was supposed to kill Dumbledore.’

Snape’s face was inscrutable so Hermione had no idea whether what she was saying was true, but it made sense in a strange sort of way. The little voice in her brain tried to point out that she was clutching at straws in a desperate attempt to make her desire for Snape seem less wrong, but she locked the voice away. Now she was thinking about it properly, it actually did make sense. If Snape had made the Unbreakable Vow to ensure that whatever Draco had to do would be carried out, then he would have had no choice — once it became clear that Draco couldn’t do it — but to do it himself.

Unexpected sympathy for Snape flared for a moment but Hermione quelled that, too. Just because she had thought of the Unbreakable Vow, it didn’t mean that was what had happened. There could be all sorts of reasons Snape had taken the vow for Draco . . . although admittedly she couldn’t really think of one offhand. But even so, that didn’t mean she should lower her guard.

Snape looked at Hermione as she thought about things, wondering what he would say if she asked him once again about the Unbreakable Vow. Dumbledore had made him swear not to tell anyone about his death and the reasons for it, but he hadn’t counted on Hermione and her intelligence working it out. He knew he should refuse to answer but part of him, the part that very much wanted to kiss Hermione again, didn’t want to lie to her, whatever the cost. Maybe if he admitted to the vow she would realise he wasn’t her enemy and she would begin to trust him although it appeared she already had as she was moving closer to him.

Snape moved to create a space on the bed so Hermione could sit down if she wanted, but she didn’t join him instead, hovering a few feet away, looking at him intently.

‘Was the vow you made the reason you had to kill Dumbledore?’ she asked quietly.

Snape looked at her for a moment then nodded. ‘But I can’t talk to you about it. I’m sorry, Hermione.’

He really did sound sorry, Hermione thought. She could feel her heart beating faster, racing from the sudden influx of oxygen into her blood. She hadn’t realised that she had been holding her breath while she awaited his answer. She nodded and moved to the bed.

‘I’m going to sit down. If you try to attack or overpower me I will hex you,’ she warned Snape, whose face had taken on that amused expression once more.

He raised his hands in supplication. ‘I promise I won’t touch you,’ he said, his voice deep and causing Hermione’s skin to tingle and, for some reason, a small wave of disappointment to run through her.

Hermione perched next to him on the bed, trying hard to ignore the fact that he was only wearing the bathrobe. She needed to stop thinking about Snape in a sexual way and start thinking about what he was telling her. By sitting down next to him she was telling him she trusted him although she still wasn’t sure that was actually the case.

‘You said that Harry, Ron and I should stay together. But how do I know you’re really trying to help us?’ Hermione asked. ‘You’re a Death Eater. For all I know you could be saying that to make us an easier target.’

‘I’m not a Death Eater,’ Snape said, ‘at least not a proper one. I’m a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.’

Hermione shook her head. ‘If that was true you wouldn’t be a fugitive on the run. If they knew what you were doing they would look after you . . . like they looked after Sirius.’ She regretted mentioning Sirius as soon as she saw the massive scowl that crossed Snape’s face. She had forgotten about his hatred of the man.

‘Haven’t you realised yet what games Dumbledore played?’ Snape asked tartly. ‘Only he had the full picture. Everyone else is given just enough information to perform their role. No one is allowed to know it all.’ He reached out to take Hermione’s free hand and stroked it gently. ‘I have no intention of hurting you or your friends, Hermione. I’m trying to help you.’

Hermione was enjoying the tingling sensation that Snape’s touch brought — a little too much, if anything. She tried to pull her hand away but he refused to let go.

‘Why is it so important for us to stay together?’ she asked.

‘I’d have thought that was obvious,’ Snape replied, his voice just shy of being sarcastic. ‘The only time Potter ever manages to accomplish anything is when he has you and Weasley with him. He may be the ‘Chosen One’ but he hasn’t got a clue. Your brains and Weasley’s loyalty help to build a formidable team.’

‘Or maybe you just want us to stay together so we’re easier to pick off,’ Hermione said again.

Snape sighed. ‘I don’t know what I can say to convince you, Hermione, but that really isn’t the case.’

‘But how do I know?’ Hermione asked. ‘I want to trust you, Professor Snape, but how do I know you’re not playing me?’  

Snape looked into her eyes for a moment. ‘What does your heart tell you, Hermione?’ he asked her gently, trying not to sound anxious.

‘I don't know,’ Hermione admitted unhappily.

Part of her urgently wanted to believe Snape, wanted the reassurance she had been lacking for so long, but could she trust him? She knew what Harry and Ron would say. But neither of them had ever had a good word to say about the teacher they'd had so many run-ins with and Harry had seen Snape kill Dumbledore with his own eyes and was never going to believe things might not be as they seemed.

‘I need you to trust me, Hermione,’ Snape continued quietly. ‘I know it's hard, but I swear I'm not a traitor to the Order.’

‘Then why can't you tell me the truth about what happened with Professor Dumbledore?’

Snape regarded her appraisingly for a moment then shook his head regretfully. ‘It's not the right time. I'm sorry, Hermione, but Dumbledore had a plan and I'm following my orders, just as Harry will follow his.’

‘But—’

Snape shook his head. ‘No, Hermione. I'm sorry, but I can't. You're just going to have to trust me.’

Hermione looked at Snape. Wrapped in the bathrobe he looked strange and somehow vulnerable, and she could find it easier to believe he was telling the truth. But of course, that was what he wanted her to think. Snape was nothing if not a good manipulator. He was still stroking her hand, his thumb rubbing the fleshy part of her thumb, causing tiny ripples of pleasure to run through her. Wherever she looked, there was Snape; his still-damp hair, his darkly haired chest, and his strong legs, also covered in hair. Her mind imagined undoing the bathrobe, sliding her hands over his naked body, claiming what lay beneath. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to bite off the small sigh of desire that came to her lips at that image.

She forced herself to look at Snape’s face. He was watching her avidly, his dark eyes now completely focussed on hers. She had no idea what he was thinking, as she wasn’t a Leglimens, but suddenly she felt a little uncomfortable at the intensity of his stare. The kiss they had shared sprang back into her mind.

‘Why did you kiss me?’ Hermione asked, almost unconsciously. She looked surprised that she had spoken and didn’t recognise her voice, as full of desire as it was.

Snape looked at her for a moment, his hand gripping hers tighter as he continued to stroke.

‘Because you’re beautiful . . . and because I wanted to—’ Snape broke off as he gazed at Hermione’s mouth. He wanted to kiss her so much it hurt.

‘Because you wanted to what?’ Hermione whispered.

Snape still didn’t speak, unable to put into words what he had been feeling at the time of that first kiss. He gazed at Hermione, trying to analyse what her body language and voice were telling him. He didn’t think she had been disgusted by him kissing her, in fact, her manner made him wonder whether she might not have enjoyed it as much as he had. She really was beautiful and he wanted to touch her, wanted to undo those last few buttons on her pyjama top and stroke her warm skin with his hands and with his lips . . . and he really wanted to kiss her again.

‘Because I want you so much, Hermione,’ Snape admitted quietly.

Before Hermione could do anything he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her towards him and into a kiss, his other hand dropping hers to wrap around her too, holding her tightly as the kiss intensified. On and on it went every bit of desire that Snape and Hermione held for each other being poured into the kiss. Snape lay back on the bed, pulling Hermione down with him, the initial kiss now finished and another having taken its place almost immediately. And then she was beneath him, laying on her back, and he was pressed against her, his hand stroking her throat and down further, caressing her soft skin as he smiled down at her, lips pecking now — small biting kisses, teasing yet tender.

‘I’ve thought about you so much,’ Snape admitted.

One of his hands was stroking Hermione’s stomach, revelling in the feel of her and the fact that she wasn’t stopping him. And now she was touching him, too, pulling at the bathrobe, removing it as he worked on those buttons he had so wanted to undo. Again and again, they kissed, hard and hungry, soft and sensual, each one different yet each as arousing as the last.

‘I’m not experienced,’ Hermione told him quietly, a little worried that he would stop once he knew this but also needing him to be aware of how things stood. ‘I’ve never—’

Snape cut her off with another kiss.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asked once the kiss had finished. His dark eyes were burning into hers again.

‘No,’ Hermione admitted fervently. ‘I want this as much as you do.’

‘I’ll never hurt you, Hermione,’ Snape whispered, his heart beating double time. He was so close now. ‘I want to love you . . . please?’

‘Oh, yes . . . yes,’ Hermione replied breathlessly.      


	3. The Fugitives

Snape managed to keep his hands off Hermione whilst she used the drying charm on his clothes. Their newly-found intimacy hadn’t made her give his wand back, so he was powerless to help. Once that was done he pulled her onto the bed and into his arms once more and gave her another passionate kiss.

‘You may as well stay here for the rest of the night, Severus,’ Hermione told him when the kiss finished.

Snape, worried about staying in one place for too long, began to protest. He had already been there for several hours longer than he had expected to be — although granted, his reception had turned out to be far more enjoyable than he had anticipated. The idea of spending the rest of the night with lovely Hermione, especially now he knew her desire for him was as real as his own was for her, was tempting but dangerous. He was sure he had covered his tracks well and it was unlikely that anyone would expect him to contact her, but you could never be too careful. He didn’t want to be the cause of trouble for her or her parents because of staying too long, especially now.

But Hermione still had his wand, and until she gave it back he couldn’t go anywhere. There was no way he would survive without it. If he was going to stay, then why shouldn’t he make the most of it? His beautiful lover was exquisite yet naïve and he was very much enjoying showing her how much pleasure he could give her. And Merlin was she a quick study.

‘I should leave,’ Snape admitted, although his voice made it clear he really didn’t want to. ‘I don’t stay very long in one place. I’m a fugitive, remember? I don’t want to bring trouble to your door.’

Hermione stopped him with another kiss. ‘I’m sure you can stay put for one night,’ she said quietly. Her hand moved, causing Snape to gasp. ‘No one knows you’re here and we’re not in the wizarding world so this would be an unlikely starting point in a search for you.’

‘True — and we do still need to talk about what you’re going to do,’ Snape told her, reluctantly moving away from the physicality taking place between them. ‘I need to know that you’re as well-prepared as possible, especially as we’re dealing with wonder-boy Potter. Let’s face it: he’s no great tactician.’

Hermione frowned for a second at Snape’s criticism of her friend but why would she expect any less? Snape and Harry had never liked each other and probably never would. She and Severus being lovers wouldn’t change that, at least certainly not in the short term. A momentary flash of guilt ran through her as she thought about Harry . . . and Ron. If they could see her now . . . but she didn’t want to think of them or of their disappointment with her if they knew what she had done. She couldn’t help her feelings for Severus any more than Harry could help his for Ginny, and whilst it might not have been sensible to base her trust in Severus on her desire, her instinct told her he was honourable and trust him she did, implicitly.    

‘I told you, I’m getting as ready as I can. Harry hasn’t told us what we’ve got to do or where we’re going, so I’m trying to be prepared for all eventualities. Please don’t worry, Severus. I’m sure Harry knows what he’s doing.’

Snape snorted at this comment. ‘That’s highly unlikely. He’s only made it this far on sheer dumb luck and your brains. I’m sorry, Hermione, but I wouldn’t place your trust in Potter’s ability to organise. Assuming Dumbledore even bothered to tell him everything he needs to know — and knowing that infuriating bastard’s propensity for games, that’s highly unlikely — I still don’t believe he’s capable of pulling this off without you to help and guide him.

‘It won’t be long now until the Dark Lord takes over the Ministry of Magic and once he does Potter’s life will become even more precarious than it is currently. Voldemort will spare nothing in his efforts to track down and destroy his enemy, so it is vital that you have somewhere safe to hide. The Order headquarters is perfect as it is as yet unknown to the Death Eaters. They have their suspicions, of course, but the Fidelius charm still holds, and whilst you are there they will not be able to touch you.’ He looked tenderly at Hermione for a moment, then added, ‘I wish I could I tell you to stay there and remain safe. But I know that’s not a viable option. Potter has a job to do and you need to help him, keep him on track. At least promise me you’ll use Grimmauld Place as your base.’

Hermione stroked Snape’s cheek as she returned his look. She leant forward to give him a kiss. Then she said, ‘But I don’t know what Harry’s plans are yet. We might be nowhere near there. And he might not want to go there after what happened to Sirius. He doesn’t like to be reminded of his godfather.’

Snape looked annoyed. ‘Hermione, this is a war. Potter’s pathetic feelings are really not important at the moment. Keeping safe is, and the best way you can achieve that is by going to Grimmauld Place. You can travel out from there; you don’t need to stay locked up, as I said. But _you_ need to start thinking sensibly and taking control. Potter might be the ‘Chosen One’, but you’re the one with the brains and you can direct what you do. Make sure it counts.’

‘I know what Harry’s like, though,’ Hermione said ruefully. ‘First of all, he’s going to try and go it alone. He always does—’  

‘I told you before, you have to make sure he doesn’t,’ Snape cut in, sounding agitated. ‘He’ll _never_ do it on his own.’

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘Of course we will, Severus. Ron and I have no intention of letting him go alone. He’ll argue because he always does, but he’ll back down eventually and accept that we’re going. He does like to make the decisions, though, and if I try to direct he’ll become stubborn and refuse to do it, whether it’s the right thing or not.’

‘Then you need to make him think it’s his decision,’ Snape said sensibly. ‘You’re clever enough to do that, Hermione.’

Hermione felt a warm glow spreading inside her. For some reason, she liked the fact that Severus was complimenting her on her intelligence, such a counterpoint to the way he had always treated her in the past. She was sure these were true compliments and not just given because they had become intimate. Severus Snape certainly wasn’t the sort of man to give false praise.

‘I suppose it makes sense,’ she admitted. ‘And I think I know how to play Harry — most of the time, at least.’

Satisfied now that Hermione would do as he asked, Snape pulled her to him for another kiss and a little more exploration of her beautiful body. At least if she was at Grimmauld Place most of the time he would know she was okay, and he would also be able to find her when the need arose.

 

. . .

 

‘There’s a painting,’ Snape said some time later as they lay drowsy and sated after their lovemaking. ‘I think it might be in the room Potter uses at Grimmauld Place.’

‘Painting?’ Hermione asked sounding confused.

‘It’s of Phineas Nigellus Black,’ Snape said. ‘He was Headmaster of Hogwarts at one time.’

Hermione looked at Snape, still confused. ‘But what use is a painting?’

Snape looked at her as if she was a bit slow. ‘He was Headmaster. He has another portrait in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.’

‘Right,’ Hermione said. ‘I understand that, but I still don’t understand how it will help. I mean, we don’t know who the Headmaster or Headmistress is going to be, do we? I assume Professor McGonagall is currently in the role, but there’s no certainty she’ll stay in it, especially if You-Know-Who is about to take over as you say he is.’

Snape gave a small half-smirk. ‘I am going to be the new Headmaster, Hermione.’

Hermione couldn’t help looking shocked. Since she had chosen to trust Severus she had tried to put out of her mind the unpleasant things he had done and focus only on the good, but now he was reminding her of his role as a spy and that he would, to all intents and purposes, be working for Voldemort.

‘You don’t think I’m a suitable candidate?’ Snape asked, seeing Hermione’s expression. He was annoyed to discover that her surprise gave him a twinge of pain.

Hermione hastily tried to re-arrange her expression. ‘Oh, no, Severus, I think you would be a very good Headmaster . . . if you would just lighten up a little bit. It’s just that after Dumbledore . . . .’ She trailed off for a moment, not wanting to voice the thought she had just had about the Headmaster’s death. She already knew she would get nothing further from him on that subject. Changing tack slightly, she continued, ‘I’d just forgotten for a moment that you are so close to You-Know-Who.’ She looked at him intently for a few seconds. ‘And you’re sure it will be you?’

Snape looked back coolly then nodded his head. ‘That is certainly the plan we’ve been working towards for the last year. My appointment will be announced shortly after the Dark Lord’s takeover of the Ministry if Magic.’

Hermione wondered again about what had happened between Severus and Dumbledore. Had it been part of the old Headmaster’s plan that Severus should replace him? It seemed a bit far-fetched and surely allowing Severus to kill him to achieve that was a step too far to consider.

‘What’s the matter?’ Snape asked, seeing Hermione’s pensive expression once more.

‘I was just thinking about Dumbledore,’ Hermione admitted.

‘Forget Dumbledore,’ Snape said more brusquely than he meant to. Seeing Hermione’s expression at his snapping he added more gently, ‘Dumbledore is gone and now all we can do is follow his plan and hope it was the right one.’

Hermione wasn’t sure whether this was Severus’ way of telling her that what had happened between him and Dumbledore had been pre-planned, but he was right she had to stop thinking about her old Headmaster and focus on what was coming next. And that meant what she was going to have to do to her mum and dad. From the way Severus spoke it sounded like the Ministry takeover was going to come sooner rather than later, and Hermione didn’t want to chance making a mistake with her parents because of rushing.

She was meant to go to the Burrow at the weekend, four days off yet, but she would have to get the plans she had been preparing for the last month underway immediately. She felt her heart constrict at the idea of her parents not remembering who she was but pushed the pain away. There were more important things now and she had to focus on those, not on her own misery.

‘Now what are you thinking about?’ Snape asked interestedly. He had watched Hermione as she thought about her parents and wondered at her sudden sadness.

‘My parents,’ Hermione said. Her voice was a little stilted as if she was trying not to cry. ‘I don’t want them involved in the war or for them to be used by You-Know-Who to get at Harry via me, so I’m going to alter their memories and send them far away. They won’t even know they’ve got a daughter, let alone one who is a witch. If we prevail I’ll restore their memories once it’s all quietened down otherwise, they can live out the rest of their lives, happy and without fear.’

Snape looked at Hermione with renewed admiration. He had known she was a brave and capable woman — her conduct over the previous six years had taught him that much — but he’d had no idea she was so strong. A rush of desire, this time not purely physical, ran through him and he pulled her close once more, holding her tenderly as a few tears fell onto her cheeks.

‘Do you want my help?’ he asked softly, already knowing she would say no. This was far too personal for her to relinquish control of the task to someone else, especially someone she didn’t completely trust, regardless of what was between them.

Hermione shook her head. ‘No, I need to do it.’

She could have accepted Severus’ help and maybe it would have been prudent. He was, after all, far more powerful magically than she. But this was something she needed to do alone for her own peace of mind, and if she was honest, even now she still wasn’t sure she could trust Severus completely. At the back of her mind was still the thought that even after everything they had shared over the course of the night he was manipulating her, so there was no way she was ceding more to him than she had to. But he would be able to help her in a different way. He could take her mind off what was coming, for a short while at least. She moved a little and whispered in Snape’s ear.

He pulled back and looked at her, an amused grin crossing his face, ‘Again? My word, Miss Granger, it would appear you are insatiable.’    

Hermione grinned too. ‘I’ve discovered something I like doing and I’d like to make the most of the short time we have left together, Severus.’

‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to disappoint you,’ Snape replied smoothly, and his lips found hers as he moved, pushing her down beneath him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘What about the girl?’ Snape asked.

‘Too clever by half, that one,’ Phineas said with a sneer. ‘The way she's treated—’

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ Snape cut in tetchily, ‘you don't like her because she's Muggle-born. But how is she? Is she coping? Is she . . . well?’

‘Why are you so interested in her?’ Phineas asked slyly. ‘Why so worried about what _she's_ doing? Are you sweet on her, Snape?’

Snape scowled. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, Black, but she's the brains behind the outfit. Without her to lead the way, Potter doesn't stand a cat in hell's chance of completing what he's been sent to do. Without _her_ , Phineas, Voldemort will prevail — and Merlin help all of us if that happens.’

He saw the portrait shudder at the thought. Long dead and Slytherin he may be, but Phineas Black wasn't stupid.

‘I don't know what I can do,’ he whined. ‘She's a wily one. She keeps me in her bag so I can't see where they are. She doesn’t trust me.’

‘Well, I need to know,’ Snape said sharply, ‘so I suggest you find a way to find out. It was bad luck, Yaxley catching hold of Hermione like that. Grimmauld Place was the perfect way to keep track of what they were doing and now I have no idea. How the hell am I supposed to help them when I haven’t got a clue where they are or what they’re doing? You need to get the information for me, Phineas.’

Snape switched off as the portrait continued to complain. He knew Potter had managed to get one of the remaining Horcruxes, but the amount of turmoil they had caused at the Ministry of Magic showed that he, not Hermione, had obviously been the mastermind behind that plan. Snape needed to know where they were, and urgently. In his last conversation with Dumbledore’s portrait, the man had told him he needed to give Godric Gryffindor’s sword to Potter as soon as possible. But how could he do that when he had no bloody clue where they were? So far he had refrained from actually communicating directly with Hermione in case her actions raised her friends’ suspicions, but he had to discover their whereabouts. If Phineas couldn’t do it through stealth, Snape would have to insist that Hermione tell him where they were. 

He looked down at the parchment on his desk. Giving Hermione a direct order might be dangerous in more ways than one. He was assuming that running for her life as she most certainly was since her name had appeared on the Ministry’s most-wanted list and after the debacle at the Ministry of Magic, she wouldn’t have had time to think about him or what they had done that night in her bedroom. It was a distraction she couldn’t afford. But if she was reminded of him if he contacted her, would it be enough to put her off her guard? He didn’t want to risk it and cause her potential trouble unless there really was no other choice.

He had spent so much time since that night reliving every second of their time together, using the beautiful memories to buffer himself against the bad things he had to do in Voldemort’s name and because Dumbledore’s plan demanded it. His guilt level, always high anyway because of what had happened with Lily, hadn’t exactly been lowered by the latest bout of activity. Since he last saw Hermione he had seriously injured one of the Weasley twins, and whilst that had occurred because he was trying to save the blasted werewolf Remus Lupin’s life, that fact didn’t make him feel any better. Even his tenure as Headmaster was painful, watched as he was all the time by the Carrows, unable to do anything but inflict the cruelty Voldemort demanded of him.

What would Hermione think of him if she knew how he had behaved? Part of him liked to think she was intelligent enough to realise that he was following the plan, as bound to it as she and her friends were, and would still care for him. But part of him, the part that wallowed in the guilt and had stopped him from getting over Lily for all these years, was convinced that she would be disgusted with him and want nothing further to do with him. His life was bleak enough already without adding his pessimism about Hermione to the mix; he, too, would be better without the distraction of worrying about where she was. But if he had to contact her, so be it.     

  

 

* * *

 

 

‘Ron, please. Take off the locket. You’re only saying these things because you’re wearing it.’

Hermione could feel a knot of dread in her stomach as her friend raged. He always did when it was his turn to wear that horrid lump of metal and stone filled with poison, but today’s outburst was the worst so far and she didn’t like what he was saying.

‘It makes no difference whether I’m wearing the bloody locket or not,’ Ron replied belligerently. But he did relinquish control of it to her and she could see him start to calm a little once it was removed.

‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ Hermione asked worriedly. ‘You know how that locket always—’

‘It’s not the locket, Hermione,’ Ron said, cutting her off. ‘It’s everything. I’ve had enough of this bloody tent and having nothing to eat. And what are we doing, anyway, eh? I thought Harry knew something, thought Dumbledore had given him something to go on, but instead, we’re moving around aimlessly, not doing anything. Admit it — you didn’t think it would be like this when we agreed to go with him, did you?’

Hermione thought for a few seconds before answering. It was true that she had assumed Harry had been given more to go on than appeared to be the case; although knowing how cryptic Dumbledore had been with Severus, she probably shouldn’t have been surprised. It seemed even she had known more about what was going on than Harry although that link had dried up since they had been forced out of Grimmauld Place by Yaxley. She’d had to keep Phineas’ portrait covered so he couldn’t give away their location to anyone hostile and even Severus had to be considered as such at the moment. But as she had always known and as Severus had impressed upon her, it was important that the three of them stay together. Harry may very well be the Chosen One, but without the support of his friends he would falter at the final hurdle. That meant her, once again, trying to keep the peace between her friends. As time went on without any sign of anything positive happening to get rid of the locket or even to find any more Horcruxes, and with Harry’s growing obsession with the bloody Deathly Hallows, that peace was becoming more and more fragile.

‘I know what you mean,’ Hermione replied soothingly. ‘But we have to trust that Harry knows what he’s doing. He needs our support, Ron, now more than ever. There’s no point in getting angry or arguing about it, however frustrating it is.’

‘Oh, well, of course, you would take his side,’ Ron said snidely.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Hermione asked, sounding upset. She knew she shouldn’t say anything as it would probably start Ron off on a rant, but now she was wearing the locket it was hard to keep quiet, especially when she was fed up to the back teeth with both her friends.    

It had been bad enough having to share a tent with two idiots whose hormones seemed to have taken on a life of their own, causing them to bicker almost incessantly and be forever trying to get one up on each other over every stupid thing. And the teenage-boy smell that had gradually permeated the place was worse than the cat-wee smell the tent had when they had first lived in it. As the boys began to piss her off more than they had ever done in all the years she had known them she couldn’t help thinking about Severus, and more specifically the night they had spent together and wishing that she was with him rather than with her friends — which then served, as it always did, to make her feel guilty.

She was just as fed up as both Harry and Ron but had been trying to keep things together. But now, wearing the locket, she began to wonder whether there was any point. Nothing was happening anyway, and they were doing _n_ _othing_ but move around the country aimlessly, trying to avoid the round-up gangs. Perhaps they should just admit they didn’t have a clue what they were doing and try to make contact with the Order of the Phoenix. Surely the Order would hide them whilst they tried to work out where the next Horcrux was, and Ron would get to see his family again and hopefully stop being such an arsehole.

‘I’ve seen you with Harry,’ Ron replied, his voice taking on a nasty tone. ‘Whispering and talking behind my back. What have the two have you been up to while I’ve been the mug standing guard outside, eh? Do you think I don’t know what the two of you are doing?’

Hermione looked at him in shock. ‘What do you think we’ve been doing? We’ve been working out where to go next, trying to discover the logical place for a Horcrux to be stored. And I’ve been trying to stop him thinking about those stupid Deathly Hallows — they’re really getting in the way of what we’re trying to achieve here.’ She glared at Ron. ‘And we’ve all taken our turn on guard duty, Ronald. It’s not just you.’

‘I know what you two get up to while I’m not there,’ Ron snarled, ‘and it’s not looking for Horcruxes. I’m just glad Ginny split up with Harry. She was always too good for him.’

‘I’m not doing anything with Harry,’ Hermione said incredulously, a little voice in her mind pointing out that she was Severus’ as if she weren’t already painfully aware of that. ‘I’m not interested in either of you two idiots like that — and even if I was, now is most definitely not the time. There’s a war on, Ronald, or had you not realised? I know Harry doesn’t seem to have a clue what he’s doing and neither do we, but fighting like this isn’t going to help. Please, just calm down.’

Ron shook his head. ‘I’ve had enough, Hermione. All we do is traipse the country in that poxy tent. I’m well aware there’s a war on. My family are out there fighting it, remember? It’s all right for you two not having anyone to worry about.’

Hermione looked as if she had been slapped in the face by Ron’s comment. ‘Of course we worry. We worry about everyone we’ve left behind. How could we not? But we’ve got a job to do, Ron, like it or not, and we have to put aside personal worries to concentrate on that.’

‘Maybe I can’t any longer,’ Ron said bullishly. ‘I’ve had enough of you two being all lovey-dovey and I’ve got a family to worry about; mine aren’t hidden away all nice and safe like yours. I’ve had enough of following Harry when it’s clear he hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing.’

‘My parents don’t even know I exist,’ Hermione pointed out, sounding hurt. ‘I Obliviated their memories so they don’t remember me. At least your family know who you are. And I told you — there’s nothing between me and Harry. We’re just friends, that’s all, just like you and me.’

‘Well, I’ve had enough of it and I’m going,’ Ron told her. ‘What are you going to do? Are you coming with me or staying?’

‘Please, Ron, at least talk to Harry before you decide,’ Hermione begged.

‘What are you going to do, Hermione?’ Ron asked again, apparently ignoring her previous comment.

‘You know what I’m going to do,’ Hermione said unhappily. ‘We’ve got to help Harry.’ She grabbed Ron’s hand, holding it tightly. ‘I know you’re unhappy, Ron, but please don’t go. We need you.’

Ron looked as if he was about to retaliate once again, but now the effect of the locket was wearing off. He sighed loudly and squeezed Hermione’s hand.

‘I’m sorry, Hermione. You’re right, it’s that bloody locket again. It just really gets me down sometimes, especially when I’m worried about my family.’ 

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and gave him a huge hug. ‘I know how frustrating it is, Ron, but we will get there.’ She pulled back and looked in his eyes. ‘There honestly isn’t anything going on between me and Harry, you know.’

Ron didn’t reply but moved back as Hermione released him.

‘I’ll keep watch for a while,’ Hermione said. ‘You go and talk to Harry. Go and see if he’s found anything.

She sat down on a tree stump and pulled her copy of Beedle the Bard out of her bag, opening it to re-read the story of the Three Brothers as Ron headed back into the tent.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘Have you found out where they are yet?’ Snape’s voice was cold as he looked at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who was scowling from his frame in the Headmaster’s office.

The portrait looked as if he was considering refusing to talk as he was annoyed with Snape’s tone, but eventually, he sighed loudly and admitted, ‘Not yet. The bloody girl is still keeping me covered up. But things aren’t going too well.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Snape asked sharply. ‘Is Hermione all right?’

‘Oh, _she’s_ perfectly fine,’ Phineas replied. ‘But the boy left — the Weasley.’

‘What do you mean, left?’ Snape retorted. ‘Where could he have gone? They’re in the middle of nowhere, aren’t they?’

‘I told you, I don’t know where they are,’ Phineas said tartly. ‘But he had a blazing argument with Potter. I could hear it even if I couldn’t see it, and then he asked _her_ what she was going to do and when she told him she was staying with the Golden Boy he stormed off in a real temper. They waited for him to come back but he didn’t, and eventually they had to move on before they got caught by one of those gangs. But she’s not very happy. She cries a lot.’

Snape looked unhappy at this news.

‘I don’t know if the Chosen One’s comforting her at night, though,’ Phineas added slyly.

‘I think that’s unlikely,’ Snape replied stiffly.

‘You think so?’ Phineas teased, ‘Two teenagers all alone in a tent with nothing to do all day and night? I certainly wouldn’t bet money on—’

‘I can assure you Hermione’s interest will be fully focussed on the problem of the Horcruxes,’ Snape said, the scowl firmly on his face. ‘She understands what’s at stake here.’

‘If you say so, Severus,’ Phineas said. He was wearing a nasty grin now.

Snape sat at his desk trying to ignore Phineas’ deliberately provocative suggestion about Hermione and considered the conversation he’d had with Albus’ portrait earlier. As usual, the man had told him just enough to put the next part of his plan into action; and as always, he now had to scrabble around to try and make sure it happened. To cap it all, bloody Weasley had walked out, which was a huge blow and more of a problem than Phineas could ever understand. Great — so now he had to track him down as well and somehow, without actually becoming involved, get the boy back to his friends, when he didn’t have the faintest idea where any of them were.

‘You need to talk to Hermione,’ Snape told Phineas a few minutes later. ‘You need to push her in the direction of Godric’s Hollow. There’s plenty for them to find out there, and hopefully, we might be able to get an idea of where they are for once. Then you need to make a concerted effort to discover where they go from there. I’ll see what I can do to track down Weasley. It’s vital the three of them are reunited as soon as possible.’

‘And if she won’t talk to me?’ Phineas asked.

‘Make sure she does,’ Snape replied, his voice so cold it indicated the conversation was over.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione’s heart was beating faster than she had ever known it to before. Even being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange hadn’t brought out the emotions that were currently coursing through her body. Part of it she knew was adrenaline, brought on by the knowledge that the end was finally so close and that soon, one way or another, the fight with Voldemort would be upon them fully and it would be time to discover whether what she had done would be enough to aid Harry in his final mission. Part of it was seeing all her friends again, those she hadn’t realised she missed so much until she joined them, living now in the Room of Requirement as it was the only safe place left for them in the school. And the last, and if she was being honest probably the biggest part, although once again it left her feeling guilty, was that she was going to see Severus again.

She was sure that once the battle was over she would be reunited with her lover, the man who, although she had spent so little time with him physically, had taken over her life completely. That first kiss had awakened her desire, and the night they spent together had proved that what she felt for him was real not just some stupid fantasy, and she was just as certain that his feelings for her were the same. Nine months on the run, stuck in that stupid tent with Harry and Ron had fanned the flames of her desire for the Potions Master so much that she couldn’t wait to see him again, couldn’t wait to taste his lips and feel his taut, lean body pressed against hers.

She had made love to him in her mind so many times since they had last been together, it would feel so good to finally be with him for real. Any doubts she’d had regarding his innocence had long been removed from her mind. She knew Severus wasn’t a murderer, at least not in the way everyone thought, and she was sure the evidence for that would become clear in the aftermath of the war. There was no way Dumbledore, great tactician that he was, would have left something like that to chance.

And now they were once more in Hogwarts, so close she could almost touch Severus. She could certainly feel his presence in the corridors she traversed as she searched for him. Harry and Luna were talking about going to Ravenclaw Tower so Harry could see what the diadem, which he was now convinced was a Horcrux, looked like as there was a statue of Rowena Ravenclaw wearing it in their common room. Ron was busy catching up with his family, ecstatic to see Ginny again and even enjoying being teased by the twins, who had been among the many to come back to the school when news of their arrival had been communicated via Potterwatch on the radio.

Although there was still much to do, Harry and Hermione left Ron in the Room of Requirement knowing he would be of more use later, once he knew his family were okay. Hermione felt restless and wasn’t sure what she could do to help. She, too, needed reassurance and only Severus could give her that. Needing to get away, she offered to go and find Professor McGonagall and let her know that she, Ron and Harry had returned and explain why they were there.

Trying to keep away from the better inhabited areas of the school in order to keep their return a secret for as long as possible, Hermione made her way towards Gryffindor Tower, knowing she had a more than fair chance of finding the Head of House there, especially if she hadn’t yet heard about their invasion. The corridor she was currently walking down was badly-lit, fairly dusty, and full of alcoves containing suits of armour that she wasn’t entirely sure weren’t sentient. It was actually pretty creepy and she looked around her with every step she took, her wand pointed ahead of her to ensure that she was ready if any of the Death Eater teachers who, from what she had heard on the radio, had now been employed at the school appeared in the corridor and tried to attack her.

Hermione gave a small scream of surprise, her heart thudding, as Snape slid silently out of one the alcoves, his wand pointing at her. Before she had a chance to react he moved forward, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her back into the alcove, pushing her up against the wall as his lips found hers in a passionate kiss.

‘I heard a rumour that you had returned to Hogwarts. I’m sorry for scaring you,’ he said, his dark voice sincere, once the kiss was over. He was holding Hermione so tightly he could feel how fast her heart was beating.

‘It was worth it,’ Hermione told him. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him towards her once more. ‘God, I’ve missed you so much, Severus.’

‘And I you,’ Snape admitted. ‘I was so worried when I heard you had been taken to Malfoy Manor. I thought Voldemort had got you all for sure and he would have had no use for you or Weasley. And when I heard what that bitch Bellatrix did to you—’ He broke off, stroking her cheek gently.

‘I’m fine, really,’ Hermione assured him before kissing him a second time.

‘I know this really isn’t the right time,’ Snape said, trying to sound apologetic but failing miserably. He was pressing himself against Hermione, heavily aware of his arousal that had flared at his first sight of her.

‘I don’t care,’ Hermione admitted honestly, her own arousal stoked further by the feel of Snape’s body hard against hers. ‘I need this . . . we need this. I love you, Severus.’

And then they were touching, the desire both of them had held in check for so long overwhelming everything else. Suddenly there was nothing but the two of them, nothing but their lust and their need to be together. Hermione knew she should feel guilty about what they were doing, that she should be trying to find McGonagall and getting ready to help Harry, but for the first time since the kiss back in Severus’ office she didn’t feel guilty at all.

She had been through so many hardships since she had last seen Severus, and she had sacrificed so much, that she wasn’t willing to give up this few minutes of joy that could potentially be the last she and her lover would share — was certainly the last before the battle that could only be hours away now. Everything else could wait whilst she and Severus made love. She was sure her own performance in what was to come would only be enhanced by her time with him now.

‘I’m going to marry you once this is all over,’ Snape promised her as he held her in the aftermath of their lovemaking, his lips brushing her forehead as he spoke.

‘Oh yes please, Severus,’ Hermione said. She smiled happily at him, wishing she could stay in his arms for the rest of her life. But she knew there was no time for that now. She had things to do, and probably so did he. She pulled back and looked deeply into his eyes. ‘I’m really sorry but I have to go. I’m supposed to be finding Professor McGonagall.’

Snape nodded understandingly, his hand stroking her face once more. ‘What about the others — what are they doing?’

‘Ron’s with his family. Harry and Luna should be at the Ravenclaw common room by now.’

Snape scowled unhappily and asked stiffly, ‘What are they going there for?’

‘Harry thinks there’s a Horcrux at Hogwarts and that it’s Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem, but he doesn’t know what it looks like. Cho said there was a copy of it on a statue in their common room, so Harry and Luna were going to go and look at it.’ Hermione looked at Snape, whose scowl had grown at her words. ‘What’s the matter, Severus?’

‘Alecto Carrow is in the Ravenclaw common room. I was told to station her there just in case,’ Snape said his dark voice sounding angry.

‘Just in case of what?’ Hermione asked worriedly.

‘The Dark Lord didn’t specify,’ Snape said tersely, ‘although obviously, he was expecting Potter to make an appearance. I thought it would get the Carrows out of the way if I sent them there and it would give me one less thing to worry about. I didn’t realise Potter would need to use the room. Mind you, I had no idea you were coming back to the school tonight. I need to try and sort this before something catastrophic happens.’ He gave Hermione a kiss reminiscent of the one he had given her in his office. ‘For Merlin’s sake try and stay safe, Hermione. I know you have to help Potter but don’t do anything stupid, please. I couldn’t bear it if you—’ He broke off, obviously unwilling to finish the thought.

‘You, too,’ Hermione said quietly. Her heart was beating faster again, aware that this would probably be the last time she would see Severus until the battle was over. ‘Please be careful.’

Snape gave her a brief smile. ‘I’ll see you once Potter has prevailed. Now go. Minerva will need to be ready.’

Hermione gave Snape one final kiss as he released her from his grip. Then she slipped from the alcove and ran down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower, vaguely aware that Snape had left in the opposite direction. But Hermione couldn’t find Professor McGonagall. She wasn’t in Gryffindor Tower and none of the students had any idea where she had gone. Hermione decide the best bet was to return to the Room of Requirement and her friends and await Harry’s return.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione’s heart almost stopped when Harry told them the latest vision from his shared connection with Voldemort. The evil wizard had sent Lucius Malfoy to find Snape and direct to him to the Shrieking Shack, where Voldemort was currently holed up with his snake — and final Horcrux — Nagini. Even with everything that had happened since the battle began, this more than anything else chilled Hermione to the bone.

She wanted to go there, wanted to make sure her lover was okay. Ron immediately offered to go and kill the snake, knowing it needed to be destroyed before Harry could defeat Voldemort, but Harry wouldn’t hear of it. Hermione offered to go instead, but neither of her friends would allow her to do that. In the end, since Hermione and Ron were both unwilling to allow Harry to go on his own, all three of them went, creeping out of the castle under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak.

Hidden behind crates in the tunnel leading into the Shrieking Shack, Hermione listened as the man she was in love with was attacked by the giant snake and left for dead, a casualty of Voldemort’s attempt to gain more power as well as dominion over the Elder Wand. Harry, still covered by the Invisibility Cloak, watched the scene unfold and rushed into the room as soon as Voldemort left it. Hermione followed close behind, her stomach roiling with terror at what she was about to see. Although she had heard Severus’ loud scream of pain and knew he had been bitten by the snake, Hermione wasn’t at all prepared for the sight of her lover lying on the floor of the dusty shack, desperately trying to staunch the blood that was pouring from a wound in his throat.

Blinking away the tears that automatically sprang to her eyes, Hermione moved closer, needing to be with Severus as he died, although her heart was breaking as she looked at him. Harry was leaning over him, Snape holding onto his robes, and a silvery blue substance was leaking from his mouth, ears and eyes.

‘Take . . . it . . . Take . . . it . . .’ Snape pleaded.

Hermione watched, her heart breaking in two as Harry just stood there, not knowing what to do. She waved her wand to create a flask and pushed it into Harry’s shaking hands, watching as he filled it with the silvery liquid, using his wand. Once the flask was full Harry went to move away, but Snape wouldn’t release him.            

‘Hermione,’ Snape whispered, his voice sounding wrecked. Another stream of the liquid fell from the corner of his eye.

Hermione gasped at the mention of her name. Waving her wand again, she produced another bottle, this one far smaller and made of dark glass. She pulled the stopper and moving closer to Snape she gently stroked his face, whispering soothingly as she collected the liquid, not caring what Harry thought of what she was doing. Snape’s eyes flickered in her direction for a moment but then he focussed on Harry once more as his grip on Harry’s robes slackened.

‘Look . . . at . . . me . . .’ he whispered.

Hermione moved back, the tears she had fought so hard not to shed finally releasing in a torrent as she placed the stopper back in the bottle, unable to watch as Snape took his final breath. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to lock down the grief she felt at the death of her lover. She had to help Harry; that was all that was important now.

Then Voldemort’s voice rang around the room, high and cold, and they realised that it could be heard everywhere, not just in the Shrieking Shack. Voldemort was talking to all the inhabitants of the school and Hogsmeade — addressing Harry, giving him an ultimatum. Hermione knew that Harry, already feeling guilty about the number of deaths that had occurred, was ready to give himself up, but she was sure it wouldn’t do any good. He couldn’t defeat Voldemort at the moment, not with Nagini still alive. After one last look at Snape, she and Ron headed back down the tunnel to the school, Harry following, so they could think of a new plan.

Hermione was completely numb as she climbed the stairs into the castle. Her legs moved automatically, carrying her through the Entrance Hall where the flagstone floors were covered in blood and emeralds from the shattered Slytherin House hourglass. She followed Ron and Harry into the Great Hall; the crowded room had been cleared of the usual tables and groups of people stood around looking shell-shocked.

She looked at the centre of the room where the dead had been lined up and saw Ron’s family all crowded around a figure that Hermione knew had to be Fred. But she couldn’t grieve for him, or for Remus and Tonks who lay next to the twin on the floor because at least they were here with the people who loved them. Severus was still in the Shrieking Shack, alone and uncared for. It broke her heart to think of it.

Ron peeled away and headed over to his family and Hermione followed. When she reached Ginny she pulled her friend close for a hug, needing to feel arms around her just as much as Ginny needed the support. Hermione wasn’t even aware of Harry leaving the room, so deep were her sobs as she cried for all the people who had died, but especially for Severus.  

Eventually, she left the Weasleys behind, needing to be alone with her thoughts for a while. She left the castle once more and stepped out into the darkness, glad that she couldn’t be seen. She knew she should be waiting for Harry, but for the time being — whilst there was a lull in the storm — she needed to be with Severus. Running now, she ignored the people milling around in the castle grounds. With her wand lit to show her the way, she made her way back to the Whomping Willow, its branches still held fast.

She took a deep breath and ran down the tunnel back into the dusty room, stopping when she saw the dark mass of the Potions Master on the floor in front of her. Hermione dropped to the floor and reached out to pull Snape up from where he was lying. Tears cascaded down her cheeks once more, her sobs loud and raw, as she held him tight, not caring that his blood was soaking her clothes.

‘We were supposed to get married,’ she whimpered unhappily, brushing Snape’s lank hair back from his bloodless face. ‘I wanted to be your wife, Severus. I love you so much.’ Head bent, Hermione kissed the dark-haired man on his cold cheek and closed her eyes to imagine him as he was when he had been her lover, rather than as he was now, lifeless and still.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was finally over, Hermione thought as she sat on her own. Her hands were occupied by a tea cup and a plate containing a couple of limp sandwiches that she had no intention of eating. She held them purely to keep her hands occupied and stop herself from unconsciously picking her skin to shreds. There had been so many tears and so many funerals that now she was all cried out. First, there was Lavender Brown’s funeral before the dust had even really settled, whilst Hermione and probably most of the other survivors were still trying to process what had happened at the end of the battle. She had cried for Lavender, the resentment she had once felt for her old dorm mate long gone. Then there was Colin Creevey, the annoying yet likeable Gryffindor boy who was too young to take part in the battle and should never have been fighting in the first place.

Then it was the turn of Remus and Tonks, friends so dear to her heart that the tears she shed that day were almost constant. The occasion was made even more poignant when Teddy, their baby son, was brought into the gathering by Mrs Weasley. By the time Fred’s funeral took place — a strangely muted and sombre affair that was such an odd contrast to what she would have expected for the lively and playful young man — Hermione had begun to wonder whether she had any tears left to shed.

She had, of course, as she discovered at Severus’ funeral where it seemed to Hermione as if the tears would never end. But eventually, long after the coffin was lowered into the ground and the dirt had covered the grave, her tears had finally subsided, leaving just the wracking great sobs of pain and despair. When those, too, abated, Hermione made the decision that there was to be no more crying. The deaths had happened and the bodies were buried. She could and would continue to grieve for her friends and her lover but she would shed no more tears. Crying wasn’t going to bring Severus back, nor would it make her feel better.

Instead, she had to focus her mind on helping with the rebuilding that was taking place throughout the wizarding world, to throw herself into bringing about the changes that were required now that Voldemort and his tyranny were gone, to ensure that nothing like it could ever happen again. What had happened at Hogwarts was a part of her past that she badly needed to forget — for a while, at least.   

Hermione wasn’t sure Harry and Ron understood about her relationship with Severus and why she was so upset at the Potion Master’s death. In fact, she was pretty certain they didn’t. In fairness to them, she hadn’t actually tried to explain it; after all, what was the point now that he had gone and left her all alone for the rest of eternity? But even they couldn’t fail to notice that her grief over his death had been somewhat out of proportion to that of everyone else, and surely they must have wondered why.

Of course, her friends being the typical males they were, afraid to become involved with things like emotions, had chosen not to question Hermione about what she was going through, instead, pretending that nothing was happening. So, whilst she stayed at the graveside sobbing, her heart broken into a million tiny fragments that could never be mended, they headed off to the wake, leaving her alone.

Calmer once the tears had ceased, Hermione joined the others although she didn’t feel much like celebrating Severus’ life. For her, there was nothing to celebrate. Severus was gone and she would never see him again, would never kiss his tender lips, never feel his taut, muscular body pressed against hers, and she would never get to be his wife as he had promised her she would be.

Mrs Weasley, rather more aware and empathetic than her son and his friend, took her to one side and asked her those questions the men never would and hesitantly at first, Hermione shared the secret she had been keeping for so long. There were no lectures, recriminations, or prying, only sympathy from the woman who finally understood why Hermione was so grief-stricken over the death of the snarky teacher.

Molly Weasley couldn’t help feeling a particular kinship with the young woman who had lost so much, having been through the same thing herself with the loss of her son. Harry had already told his best friends and the remaining Weasleys what he had learnt from Snape’s memories in the Pensieve, so Mrs Weasley had no reason to berate Hermione for her choice of lover. If anything she couldn’t help feeling sad that the brave man hadn’t been rewarded for his hard work with the love Hermione would have given him, but with death instead.           

Hermione listened as Harry recounted to the rest of the mourners what he had discovered about Snape’s memories, once again relating how Snape’s love for his mother had drawn the Potion Master into a life of deception and unparalleled bravery. Hermione was unable to avoid a sting of jealousy as Harry described Snape’s relationship with Lily, even though she knew it was pointless to feel that way. At the end Severus had been in love with her, regardless of his feelings for Lily; of that she was certain.

Mrs Weasley looked sympathetically at Hermione and even held her hand for support, squeezing tightly as Harry brought Snape’s tragic tale to a close, describing in far too graphic detail how his life had ended, the man dying as bravely as he had lived. Hermione looked around as Harry finished speaking, noting the number of people who were crying openly or discreetly wiping away tears, and many others whose eyes glistened.

But her eyes remained resolutely dry. She had no more crying to do. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione had no idea what she was doing here. It had been almost five months since the final battle; since the man she loved had died, and unfortunately for her, every moment had been agony. After the endless stream of funerals ended, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister for Magic, had asked Harry, Ron and Hermione to go and work with him at the Ministry of Magic and help him create a new, all-inclusive wizarding world. No longer was there to be any discrimination against any witch or wizard, regardless of their blood status.

Harry had agreed immediately. His dream of becoming an Auror was finally coming true. Before long he and Neville, who had also joined the Department, were off travelling across Europe on the trail of Death Eaters who had absconded once they realised their master was finished. Ron had turned down Kingsley’s offer, preferring instead to go and work with George at the joke shop; he was aware that his brother wouldn’t be able to function on his own for a while, and as well, Ron needed to take a break from the fame that being Harry’s friend attracted.

Hermione didn’t want to be an Auror. She had actually wanted to finish her education but she wasn’t sure her heart could stand the pain of being back at Hogwarts if Severus wasn’t going to be there, too. The school needed to be rebuilt after the damage done to it during the battle and wasn’t going to open until the following year.

She hoped that by then she would have got used to the idea of Severus being gone and would be able to attend, as the idea of transferring to a foreign school didn’t really appeal. Until then she agreed to work with Kingsley in his office, determined to ensure the freedom of not only the humans in the wizarding world but the magical creatures, too, both in Remus’ memory and as a thank-you to the house-elves who had aided the Order of the Phoenix during the Battle of Hogwarts.

She threw herself completely into the task, starting early in the morning and finishing late at night, filling her days with so much work that she didn’t have time for the pain that thinking of Severus brought. Unfortunately, though, her nights were still her own. The sleeplessness that had been a part of her life for so long now hadn’t been made any better by her loss. It was during these long, oh, so very long nights, on her own in the room where she and Severus had first made love, that she relived, again and again, every short but exquisite moment she had spent with the man she still missed so much —in particular, the furious and frantic lovemaking they had shared in those final few hours before the battle.

Hermione hadn’t yet restored her parents’ memories. At first, it was because she was too upset to concentrate on the delicate spells that were required and she worried that something would go wrong. But as the months passed she continued to shy away from bringing them back into her life. Upset as she was, she didn’t feel it would be fair for her parents to have to deal with her problems — and anyway, she didn’t feel like discussing it. She hadn’t talked about it with anyone since her conversation with Mrs Weasley at the funeral. Her parents were happy where they were, living in Australia under new names, and it wasn’t as if they missed her.   

But she was missing Severus, so much that it hurt physically. Her heart was bruised so badly that she didn’t think she would ever get over it. If only she could see him just one more time —but that wasn’t possible now. Somehow, in the madness of the battle, she had lost the bottle containing the precious memory he had given to her with his last breath. It pained her to think she would never see her lover again or know his final thoughts.

Sighing, Hermione began to pack up the work on her desk. She locked it away, knowing she could do no more now. She couldn’t be there any longer, couldn’t face being out in the world. She needed to be alone, to grieve properly, although there were still no tears. Not one single drop had fallen since she had left Severus’ grave. She didn’t tell anyone she was going. They would find out soon enough. 


	4. Grief

‘Are you all right?’The voice broke through her protective shell, the wall she had built around herself to keep the world out. She tried to ignore it, to blot it out, not wanting to be disturbed.

The voice broke through her protective shell, the wall she had built around herself to keep the world out. She tried to ignore it, to blot it out, not wanting to be disturbed.

But the voice was insistent, pushing and pushing, finally forcing her out of the numb area she had inhabited — for how long, she didn’t know.

‘Hermione? Are you all right, love?’

The voice was pinched and worried; a tall, looming figure bent over her as she sat sightless and uncaring, her arms wrapped around herself as if drawing in to make herself as small and unnoticeable as she could. Giving herself comfort.

But there was no comfort. There would never be any comfort again.

‘Hermione?’

A hand reached out to brush her hair and she flinched instinctively. She didn’t want anyone touching her. Not ever again. Not now that—

‘I’m sorry, love. I’m not going to hurt you. But you really need to eat.’ The voice was full of concern.

The hand moved away again and the figure moved back a little to give her space.

‘Just a little . . . come on, Hermione, you need to eat. There’s no point in killing yourself.’

The insistent sound of the voice pulled Hermione back into the room, back to the place where she didn’t want to be, couldn’t face being. She looked around at her surroundings as if in surprise. Why was she here? How was it that she was here?

‘Hermione?’

Ron’s worried face appeared before hers. His eyes caught hers and saw the deep pain in them before pulling away again.

‘I thought you’d drifted away there,’ he said with a small laugh of relief, ‘I thought we’d lost you forever.’

Inside Hermione cried, begging to be left alone with her pain and grief. She didn’t want to be here; she didn’t want to see anyone.

‘Here we are,’ another voice said cheerily. Hermione looked up dully as a plate of food was placed before her, the small bustling figure of Ron’s mum smiling as she handed Hermione some cutlery.

‘A nice home-cooked meal, that’s what you need, Hermione,’ Molly Weasley said confidently. She stopped with her hands on her hips and watched the young woman. ‘Well, eat up. Look at the state of you. When was the last time you ate?’

Hermione gave a small shrug. Time had no meaning for her now. Everything was just eternity.

She looked at the food on the plate in front of her and tried to focus on it to establish what it was.

‘Shepherd’s pie,’ Molly supplied. ‘I know it was always one of your favourites.’

Hermione frowned. Was it? She couldn’t remember — couldn’t remember anything about herself. All she knew about was the huge chasm of despair that filled her entire being, the black void of loss that threatened to overwhelm her, that would have overwhelmed her . . .  _had_ overwhelmed her until Ron had brought her back to the Burrow.

‘How could you let yourself get into this state?’ Molly asked gently. She sat down next to the young woman and picked up the fork Hermione had let drop to the table. She picked up some food then gently brought the fork to Hermione’s mouth.

‘Do you think Severus would want you to be like this?’ she asked quietly. ‘You know he wouldn’t. He would want you to live, Hermione. That’s what he died for.’

A strangled sob ripped from Hermione’s mouth to hear Mrs Weasley talk about Severus in such a blasé way. Her heart, already stabbed right through with the pain of loss, threatened to burst.

Slowly Molly fed her, only a few mouthfuls, but even that, it seemed, was a victory. A few sips of water followed and the pronouncement that she needed sleep. Hermione had sat still throughout, trying to retreat back to that fortress she had built, away from the pain of remembrance, the pain of loss and desire, the desire for everything to be over . . . to be with her lover once more.

‘Come on,’ Molly said quietly, taking Hermione’s arm. The young woman was a bag of skin and bones; it was clear she hadn’t eaten for some time. In fact, if Ron hadn’t found her when he had . . . . 

Molly shook her head to clear that thought. There had been enough death recently without thinking of more. She looked down at the shell-shocked young woman sitting in the chair, seemingly retreating back into her own world. It was strange how things happened.

‘Let’s get you to bed,’ Molly said matter-of-factly. ‘I’m sure you could do with a good sleep.’

Hermione let herself be pulled up and led from the kitchen, up the stairs, and into a small bedroom. She stood unresisting as Molly undressed her, the woman tutting unhappily as she saw the state of her. Finally, Hermione was in a clean white nightgown.

‘Lie down and get some sleep, love,’ Molly said kindly, pushing Hermione gently towards the bed. ‘We’ll see how you are later. Don’t worry about being disturbed. Ginny’s staying with friends, so you’ll be quite alone.’

She smiled and kissed Hermione gently on the forehead before leaving the room, closing the door quietly as she went.

Hermione lay on her back, eyes open but unseeing as slowly, so slowly, she made her way back to her place of refuge, her prison, her tomb. The quiet soothed her and enfolded her in its arms, claiming her. The journey was a tough one, but she had taken it before; she knew the route and all the dangers that lay ahead and the joy that would be at the end. But would she be allowed to continue? Alone, she had known that eventually, she would reach the end, in fact, it had been in sight when the annoying voice had broken through. But now she was no longer alone and they would keep trying to drag her back to where she had no desire to be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Day had turned to night. Hermione hadn’t noticed, so possibly she had slept, she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that soon they would be back — back to drag her into the land of the living, the place she couldn’t be . . . didn’t want to be, because Severus was no longer there. The door opened with a creak but Hermione ignored it. She couldn’t retreat any longer, but that didn’t mean she had to participate here. She wanted to be left alone.

‘Hermione?’ Ron’s voice was quiet as he called her name. She could hear the worry there still.

He opened the door fully and entered, moving to sit on the bed beside her, stroking her hair.

‘Are you awake?’ he asked, knowing she was. Her blank introspection terrified him, left him feeling helpless and stupid. His best friend was in pain and he could do nothing to help her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, only just loud enough to be heard. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Ron snatched her up and held her tightly in his arms as her tears flowed, her wracking sobs of pain ringing around the quiet room. As far as he was aware, this was the first time since the funeral that she had cried. At first, she had continued about her business as if nothing had changed, seemingly intent on forgetting what had happened, coldly and calmly coping with the problems the aftermath of the war had brought.

But eventually, she had hidden herself away, rejecting her friends as she withdrew deeper into herself. Finally, she had given up all contact, and for weeks no one had seen her. That was why Ron had broken into her home, worried that something had happened to her. The more than half-dead, almost catatonic mess shivering in a corner had almost made his heart stop, but regardless of what had happened to her she was his friend and he couldn’t leave her like that.

Now she was back in the world, tearful and emotional — something that was almost as hard for Ron to bear as the other state. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand her grief. He did. Or at least he thought he could understand that she was grieving. What he didn’t understand was the intensity and passionate nature of her grief. He would never have considered Hermione as the sort of person who would pine away for love, she was far too strong and sensible for that. Yet it turned out he didn’t know her that well at all. The loss of one man had been enough to bring the usually emotionally mature young woman crumbling to her knees.

Hermione scrubbed at her eyes, trying to clear the tears from them. She had vowed at the funeral that she wouldn’t cry again and had been successful until now, when her best friend had shown her how worried he was for her and she suddenly, inexplicably, felt guilty. The words of apology were followed by a wellspring of emotion, and the months of sadness and desperation that had been bottled so tightly; kept trapped within that fortress around her heart, gushed forth in a torrent.

‘Harry . . .’ she whispered.

‘He would understand,’ Ron said gently, ‘but he wouldn’t be very happy to see what you’ve done to yourself, Hermione. Look at you — you nearly died.’

‘I know,’ Hermione said. She hung her head in a mixture of sadness and embarrassment. ‘I just wanted to be with Severus. I can’t bear being alone.’

‘You’re not alone, Hermione. You’ve got us . . . and your family. You’ve still got them.’ Ron hugged her again. ‘I know it’s not the same,’ he acknowledged, ‘but we all love you just as much as he did.’ His face held an unreadable expression as he finished.

‘Are you ready to get up?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think I can see anyone else at the moment,’ Hermione said apologetically. ‘It’s too soon.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘But you can stay here with me if you want . . . if you don’t mind?’

Ron grinned. ‘Of course I don’t mind. Do you want something to eat? Mum’s dying to feed you again. She was horrified at how thin you’ve got. She’s been downstairs baking all afternoon.’

Hermione gave a small half-laugh, the first sound of enjoyment to come from her lips in almost six months.

‘I’ll have something. But not too much, my stomach’s shrunk. And I’d like some pumpkin juice, too, if that’s possible?’

Nodding, Ron rose from the bed. ‘Anything you desire, my lady,’ he said sincerely and turned for the door. ‘Welcome back, Hermione,’ he whispered happily as he left the room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The family relaxed when Hermione finally emerged from the bedroom the following day. She had showered and wore the clothes Molly had cleaned for her while she was asleep. Although she was still feeling fragile, her evening with Ron had cheered her in a way nothing else had been able to do — the way he had always been able to do — and she found that for the first time in months she actually had an appetite when she reached the kitchen and saw the huge mound of food on the table. Somewhat shyly she slid into a seat and poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice as she quietly said good morning to the assembled Weasleys. She felt embarrassed now at how they had seen her the previous day and horrified that she had put them through it. She was aware that to them she was family, and it must have hurt them to see her like that.

‘How are you feeling, Hermione? Better, I hope?’ Arthur said as he looked at her over the top of his newspaper. He had folded the paper back on itself and she couldn’t see the headlines on the front page. It had been a long time since she had bothered with the world; she needed to read and see what was happening.

‘Much better, thank you,’ Hermione said, a small flush of red staining her cheeks. ‘I really am sorry about—’

‘No need to apologise, dear,’ Molly said, smiling as she put a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Hermione. ‘At least Ronald found you in time. Now you just need to eat. Get some flesh back on your bones.’

‘I’ll be as big as a house if I eat that lot,’ Hermione said, looking around the loaded table.

‘You’re all right, I prefer big women,’ George said, shooting her a cheeky smile across the table. Hermione actually laughed.

In her grief, she had forgotten about her friends, both those alive and dead, dwelling selfishly on her desperate loss and despair. Now she looked at George, injured yet not bowed, still alive and kicking even as his twin, the charismatic joker, had died along with so many others in that final battle. Her laugher died and tears formed in her eyes once again for all those she had lost — not just Severus, the love of her life.

‘What’s the matter?’ George asked, seeing the change.

‘I’m sorry, George. I’ve been so selfish. When I think of everything you’ve been through—’

George shook his head. ‘You’re not selfish. You had every right to be upset. We all grieve in different ways, Hermione.’ He smiled at her again. ‘Anyway, the family were lucky that at least the good-looking one survived. Imagine if we’d had to breed from Fred!’

The whole family chuckled, although there was a bittersweet feel to it. Hermione knew that however much he joked about it, George would never get over the loss of his twin.

‘I’m going to Diagon Alley today if anyone needs anything,’ Molly announced to the room at large later, as Hermione helped to clear the table. Molly waved her wand and the dishes in the sink started to clean themselves. ‘Would you like to come with me, Hermione?’ she asked gently.

Hermione thought for a moment. She hadn’t been out in months, not since she had left the Ministry, needing to be alone on the day she had decided she no longer wanted to be alive. She was scared of going back out. She was well-known; after all, with everything that had happened, she, Ron, and Harry were household names. She wasn’t sure she wanted people gawking at her like she was some sort of circus freak.

‘You need to go out sometime,’ Molly pointed out kindly, clearly noting Hermione’s indecision. ‘I need a hand with some Christmas shopping and I’d appreciate your opinion. Time’s going so fast it’ll be here before we know it.’

Hermione nodded and gave a little smile. Christmas shopping she could manage. At least she hoped she could.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione breathed in as she tried to do up her jeans. She had definitely been at the Burrow for too long. From being almost anorexic, now she was having trouble fitting into her clothes. If she didn’t stop eating soon she would have to buy new ones.

‘Are you ready?’ Ron asked as he slid his head round the door.

‘Just coming,’ Hermione said exasperatedly, throwing herself onto the bed to try and sort the zipper of her jeans.

‘What are you doing?’ Ron asked, looking amused.

‘Your mother’s fed me so much I can’t get my jeans done up,’ Hermione admitted ruefully. She gave a cry of triumph as the zipper finally reached the top.

‘Are you going to be able to walk around in those?’ Ron asked doubtfully. ‘You don’t look very comfortable.’

Hermione sighed and undid the jeans, slipping them off. ‘No. I’ll never manage to sit down in them. They’re already cutting off my circulation.’ She laughed and opened the closet to retrieve a pair of trousers with a drawstring waist. She slipped them on.

‘You definitely have put on weight,’ Ron said as he watched her, ‘especially on your belly.’

‘Well, thanks for that, Ronald. That makes me feel so much better,’ Hermione replied archly.

‘That’s not a bad thing,’ Ron said quickly. ‘Actually, I rather like it. It makes you look quite sexy, you know — all those womanly curves.’ He blushed furiously.

Hermione laughed. ‘It’s all right, Ronald, I’m not really angry. But thank you for the compliment.’ She leant up to kiss her friend. ‘We’d better go.’

As they walked down Diagon Alley looking at the shops covered in festive decorations and snow, Hermione couldn’t help smiling. Although she still had a huge hole in her heart, she no longer felt the desire for death that the immediate aftermath of the war had brought. Although she couldn’t honestly say she was happy, she was content to be alive, and for the time being that was enough.

‘I really need your help, though,’ Ron moaned as she told him she was going off on her own for a while.

‘No, you want me to do your shopping for you, Ronald,’ she said knowingly. ‘You can’t be bothered to think of presents for people yourself and want me to do it for you.’

Ron scowled, knowing he had been caught out.

‘Sorry, Ron, but I’ve got presents to buy, too — and I’ve already helped your mum, Percy, and George with their gifts.’

Ron’s face flushed. ‘Oh, I see — you’ll help Percy and George, but not me. I thought I was your best friend.’ He sounded petulant.

Hermione sighed. ‘You are, which is why I have to go shopping alone. I can’t get your present with you around.’

‘Help me first. Please, Hermione. We can get everyone else’s together. Then I’ll go to the pub while you get my present. I’ll even treat you to dinner.’

‘Oh, go on, then,’ she said in amusement. ‘Anything for a quiet life.’

 

 

* * *

 

 

When she finally left Ron at the Leaky Cauldron he was loaded down with a pile of boxes and bags and looked relieved to finally be getting a pint. Hermione wanted a rest, too; she had come over tired a few times during the mammoth shopping session and her feet ached badly, but she wanted to get Ron’s present sorted before she sat down. She wasn’t sure she would be able to move again once she did.

She had just come out of the jewellery shop that she had chosen for her purchase when she accidentally bumped into an old lady who was partly blocking the exit of the shop.

‘Oops, I’m sorry,’ she said sincerely as she stopped the woman from falling. ‘I wasn’t watching where I was going.’

The woman smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it, dear, no harm done.’ She looked more intently at Hermione. ‘When are you due?’

‘What?’ Hermione was confused.

‘The baby. When is it due?’ The woman smiled again, a twinkling, friendly smile.

‘I’m not pregnant,’ Hermione said, suddenly not feeling so contented. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said the woman confusedly. ‘I could have sworn — but no matter.’

‘Excuse me.’ Hermione was suddenly flustered and felt a need to get away. ‘I have to go.’ She quickly turned to walk back towards the pub where Ron would be waiting.

As she walked past the Apothecary she stopped and looked in the window. Could she be pregnant? It was true she hadn’t had a period for probably six months, but as she had almost killed herself it wasn’t really surprising her hormones were up the creek. But she had put on weight, and as Ron had said it was around the belly, and that woman had seemed so convinced. She couldn’t be . . . it wasn’t possible. But . . . .

Hermione opened the door, the bell jangling as she entered the shop. The sudden smell of herbs assaulted her nose, making her heart beat faster. She looked around at the potions ingredients. Gods, this brought back memories. She made her way to the counter and waited silently while the assistant helped a wizard dressed in bright orange robes with his purchase. She could feel herself fidgeting as she waited. Was it nerves?

‘Can I help you?’ The woman’s voice cut through Hermione’s thoughts as she stood looking around the shop. She jumped.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ the woman said lightly, smiling in a friendly way.

‘That’s all right,’ Hermione said. ‘I was miles away, sorry.’

‘Are you after something specific?’ the woman asked politely.

Hermione swallowed nervously. ‘I think I might be pregnant,’ she said, her voice quavering somewhat.

‘I see.’ The woman looked at her appraisingly. ‘When was the last time you had a period?’

‘About six months ago, I think,’ Hermione replied. ‘I’ve been ill, so I thought it was due to that,’ she added quickly when the woman looked at her like she was stupid. ‘You know, hormones and that. I lost rather a lot of weight. Anyway, the weight’s gone back on but I’ve got a much bigger tummy than I had before, and while I was out shopping some old lady asked me when the baby’s due.’ Hermione looked close to tears now.

‘Well, it could just be hormones,’ the woman said sympathetically. ‘I mean, if you’re suddenly eating a lot after being very thin it would give you a stomach.’

‘She seemed so sure, though,’ Hermione said almost wistfully. ‘But I don’t think it’s possible, is it? Surely I’d know.’

The woman shrugged. ‘It is known for women to go through pregnancy without any side-effects and without realising, although it is rare. Of course, your illness could have covered it up.’

‘I need to be tested,’ Hermione said quietly.

The woman nodded. ‘Yes. I think that’s for the best. I assume you don’t want to do a home test?’

Hermione shook her head. ‘I need to know now,’ she whispered.

‘Come with me,’ the woman said kindly. She slipped from behind the counter to lock the door and change the sign to ‘Closed’, then she led Hermione into the back of the shop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘What’s the matter?’ Ron asked when Hermione finally made it back into the pub. She looked weary and shaken as if she had been in tears again. ‘You were ages. Did something happen?’

Hermione nodded and sat down slowly. Ron rushed to the bar to get her a drink, soon returning with a large mug of butterbeer.

‘Sorry, Ron — can I just have a pumpkin juice?’ she asked quietly.

Ron rolled his eyes but he returned to the bar for the juice.

‘So what happened to you, Hermione?’ he asked when he returned and sat down next to her, gently stroking her arm.

‘I just had a bit of a shock,’ Hermione said. She took another sip of the juice. She felt sick.

‘What happened? Nothing bad, I hope?’ Ron was worried now. ‘I knew I should have come with you,’ he finished, sounding serious.

Hermione shook her head slowly. ‘I was just coming out of the shop that I bought your present in and I bumped into this old lady — an accident, you know. I apologised and she was fine about it, but . . . but she asked me — she asked me when the baby was due.’

Ron looked annoyed, ‘Stupid old cow. That was rude of her. Don’t worry, Hermione — you’re not fat, really you’re not.’

Hermione looked at Ron intently. ‘No, I’m not, Ron. But I am pregnant.’

‘What? . . . But how? . . . Who? . . . What? . . . Are you sure?’

Hermione sighed. ‘Yes. I was quite upset, actually, so I went to the Apothecary and she tested me. It’s positive: I’m definitely pregnant.’

‘But—’

‘The baby’s due in January,’ Hermione continued quietly.

‘But that means—’

‘That I got pregnant just before Severus died. Yes.’ Hermione nodded her head sadly; there were tears glistening in her eyes again. ‘It really wasn’t just infatuation, Ronald.’

‘Oh, Hermione,’ Ron said, and he pulled her into a hug.

‘Can we just go home, please?’ she asked. ‘I don’t feel like eating tonight.’

‘Of course. Let’s go now.’ He finished his mug of beer and started to pick up all the boxes and bags. Hermione began to help him but got told off for lifting things ‘in her condition’.

‘I don’t want to tell anyone else just yet,’ she said before they went through the Floo. ‘I need time to let it sink in first.’

‘Whatever you want, Hermione,’ Ron said sympathetically. He knew what she meant. This pregnancy was as much of a shock to him as it was to her, probably more. After all, he had never realised the relationship between Hermione and Snape had been sexual. To be honest, he had never actually realised there really was a relationship, although of course, that explained Hermione’s reaction at the funeral and afterwards perfectly. No wonder she had wanted to die after her lover had been so tragically taken from her — and she had been a witness to the whole nasty incident.

Once back at the Burrow, Hermione went straight to her room, wanting to be alone for a while. She had things to think about, things she didn’t want to share with anyone at the moment, and she needed to be alone before she cracked up again. Ron hid all their presents carefully. He could hear Hermione’s soft sobs coming from Ginny’s room. He wasn’t sure why she was crying but he knew she wanted to be on her own. As much as he wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right, he slowly made his way back downstairs, leaving Hermione to weep alone.

Hermione lay on her back with her eyes open, much as she had the day she had been rescued from her home — the day she had got her life back. Tears rolled down her face now as she thought of how close she had come to joining Severus in death and — all unknowing — taking their child with her. But somehow both she and it had survived. She placed her hands on her belly, laying quietly and waiting for any tell-tale sign of life. Was that a kick? Something she had always put down to dodgy guts or her body readjusting could now be seen as movement of the life inside of her. She closed her eyes and smiled, trying to picture her baby.

Boy or girl? She didn’t care, but she had a feeling it was a boy. Would he have the dark hair of his father or her mousy brown hair? Whatever, it was sure to be a mess. She giggled. A beautiful child? Probably not, but you never knew, sometimes the most beautiful children came from the most unexpected parents. Clever, for sure, and brave, too; she expected nothing less of their son.

Soon she dropped off to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘Hermione, wake up. There’s someone to see you,’ Ginny said excitedly. She shook her friend as she slumbered in the armchair. Not long ago they had finished the huge Christmas lunch and Hermione had been sleeping it off whilst her friends played games and chatted.

‘Wha—’ Hermione said, struggling awake. She shook her head to clear it and her eyes gradually focussed on the room around her and the people in it.

‘Harry!’ Hermione screamed as she pulled herself out of the chair with difficulty and flung herself at the figure in front of her. Harry wrapped his arms around her tightly, his lips finding hers, kissing her as he gave her a gentle squeeze.

‘You’re choking me, Hermione,’ he said laughingly as she finally released him. She was crying again.

‘Leave the man alone, Hermione,’ Ron said thickly. He patted Harry companionably on the back. ‘Good to see you, mate. I think Hermione’s pleased; hard to tell with her, though,’ he chuckled.

‘What are you doing here?’ Hermione asked excitedly. ‘I thought you were off in Europe somewhere.’

‘I was.’ Harry pulled Hermione onto the sofa next to him, holding her hand. Ron came and sat on the arm next to her. ‘But we had a bit of luck a couple of days ago and found a cell. We arrested them and brought them back for trial. It meant we all got to go home for Christmas.’

‘That’s brilliant!’ Hermione said, hugging him again. ‘We’ve missed you so much, haven’t we, Ron?’ Ron nodded his agreement.

‘So have I missed much?’ Harry asked.

‘Not really,’ Hermione said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Ron got up quickly.

‘I’ll just get us some drinks,’ he said tactfully. Taking Ginny with him, he went to the kitchen, leaving the two friends alone to talk.

‘Ron told me what you did,’ Harry said, his emerald eyes boring into Hermione’s brown ones, his hand gently stroking hers.

‘Oh. Harry, I . . . .’

‘I understand, Hermione,’ Harry said quietly. ‘I know how you felt about Severus — how I guess you still feel about him. But you know he wouldn’t have wanted you to die.’

Hermione gave a bark of laughter, she was trying not to cry again. ‘Everyone’s told me that and I know it’s true, but at the time I just couldn’t bear the idea of never seeing him again. But now . . . did Ron tell you that I’m pregnant?’

Harry nodded, smiling widely. ‘He did mention it one or two hundred times. I think he’s quite excited about it, actually.’

‘It gives me something to live for,’ Hermione said. ‘I know part of him is still here with me.’

Harry nodded again. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small, dark glass bottle and placed it in Hermione’s hand, covering it with his own.

Hermione gasped as she looked at it. ‘I’d forgotten all about that,’ she said quietly, her voice close to breaking. ‘In the aftermath, I didn’t have time, and then when I remembered I couldn’t find it.’

‘Someone gave it to me,’ Harry said. ‘I think you must have dropped it somewhere in the school. They were going to throw it away. I recognised it and stopped them.’

‘Why didn’t you give it back to me before?’ Hermione’s voice was accusing.

Harry shrugged. ‘At first, I completely forgot I had it. Then it never seemed like the right time, with the funeral and everything. Then I went abroad. I meant to give it to you before I went, but you know how we were rushed out. Of course, I regretted not giving it to you when I heard what you had done.’

Hermione shook her head. ‘Don’t be upset. You might have just saved my life. I think if I’d seen Severus it might have pushed me over the edge earlier. I just wanted to be with him again so much.’

Harry looked at her with understanding. ‘Do you want to look now?’ he asked. ‘I have a Pensieve in my bags. I can go and get it.’

‘Yes, please,’ Hermione replied, looking eager.

Harry squeezed her hand once more, then rose and headed for the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘And finally . . . this one is for you, Hermione,’ Arthur said fondly as he handed over a beautifully wrapped box. The room was festooned with piles of discarded wrapping paper and ribbons where a mountain of presents had already been unwrapped by the entire family.

Hermione stared at the package for a moment and then slowly undid the wrapping, taking care not to rip the beautiful paper. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, wanting to know what the surprise gift was.

It was a box of a beautiful dark wood, possibly ebony, smooth and varnished. She looked at it for a moment and then opened the lid. Nestled inside on a bed of purple silk was a medal. Holding her breath, she pulled the precious item from the box and looked at the decoration on the front. Letting out the breath, she read the inscription on the back, feeling the tears form as she did so:

_'Order of Merlin First Class awarded to Severus Snape for extreme bravery in the final battle against Lord Voldemort. May 1998.’_

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Arthur said as he looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I thought it was right that you should have it.’

She dropped the box on the table and moved to sit in a chair by the fire, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She rested her hands holding the medal on her belly, gently stroking the baby within.

‘Your father really was a hero,’ she whispered quietly as she looked at the medal once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Pensieve memory, which I chose not to relate in the end, revealed just how much in love with Hermione Snape was, more than even she had suspected. Hermione gave birth to a son, Stephen, on 8th January 1999, the day before his father’s birthday. Ron, being the friend and lover he had always been throughout the stories, stood by Hermione and eventually did indeed marry her, and they had the children who were detailed in Jo’s epilogue. By the time of the epilogue Stephen had already left Hogwarts after being in Ravenclaw, a talented mix of his intelligent parents, and had left the family to study in America. To Ron and the rest of his family, Stephen was no less a Weasley than any of them, whilst at the same time always remaining a Snape.


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